THE    MAGNETIC    NORTH 


THE    MAGNETIC 
NORTH   ®  ^   sv   ^ 

By     ELIZABETH      ROBINS 

(C.  E.  Raimond)  Author  of  "The  Open  Ques 
tion,"  "Below  the  Salt,"  etc.      With  a  Map 


New     York      •      FREDERICK      A. 
STOKES     COMPANY      •      Publishers 


...     Copyright,  i95>4Tl>y 

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^dll  rights  r  curved 
*  '  This  edition  puWisheH  in,  March, 


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countries  signatory  to  the  Berne  Treaty. 


no  _ 

CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.  WINTER  CAMP  IN  THE  YUKON I 

II.   HOUSE-WARMING 22 

III.  TWO  NEW  SPISSIMENS 46 

IV.  THE  BLOW-OUT              ........  62 

V.   THE   SHAMAN .•  •»  .86 

VI.   A  PENITENTIAL  JOURNEY    .           .           .           .....  IO2 

vii.  KAVIAK'S  CRIME 125 

VIII.   CHRISTMAS 149 

IX.   A  CHRISTIAN  AGNOSTIC 173 

X.   PRINCESS  MUCKLUCK IQO 

XI.   HOLY  CROSS 211 

XII.   THE   GREAT  WHITE   SILENCE 240 

XIII.  THE  PIT 250 

XIV.  KURILLA 269 

XV.   THE  ESQUIMAUX  HORSE                  283 

XVI.   MINOOK 296 

XVII.   THE  GREAT  STAMPEDE 320 

xvin.  A  MINERS'  MEETING 330 

XIX.   THE  ICE   GOES  OUT 346 

XX.   THE   KLONDYKE 371 

XXI.   PARDNERS 388 

XXII.   THE   GOING  HOME 403 


M98481 


THE     MAGNETIC     NORTH 


CHAPTER   I     .',  : 

WINTER  CAMP  ON  THE  YUKON 

"  To  labour  and  to  be  content  with  that  a  man  hath  is  a  sweet  life ;  but 
he  that  findeth  a  treasure  is  above  them  both." — Ecclesiasticus. 

OF  course  they  were   bound  for   the  Klondyke.     Every 
creature  in  the   North-west  was   bound   for  the  Klon 
dyke.     Men   from   the   South   too,    and   men   from   the 
East,  had  left  their  ploughs  and  their  pens,  their  factories,  pul 
pits,  and  easy-chairs,  each  man  like  a  magnetic  needle  suddenly 
set  free  and  turning  sharply  to  the  North;  all  set  pointing  the 
self-same  way  since  that  July  day  in  '97,  when  the  Excelsior 
sailed  into  San  Francisco  harbour,  bringing  from  the  uttermost 
regions  at  the  top  of  the  map  close  upon  a  million  dollars  in 
nuggets  and  in  gold-dust. 

Some  distance  this  side  of  the  Arctic  Circle,  on  the  right  bank 
of  the  Yukon,  a  little  detachment  of  that  great  army  pressing 
northward,  had  been  wrecked  early  in  the  month  of  September. 

They  had  realised,  on  leaving  the  ocean-going  ship  that  landed 
them  at  St.  Michael's  Island  (near  the  mouth  of  the  great  river) , 
that  they  could  not  hope  to  reach  Dawson  that  year.  But  in 
stead  of  "getting  cold  feet,"  as  the  phrase  for  discouragement 
ran,  and  turning  back  as  thousands  did,  or  putting  in  the  winter 
on  the  coast,  they  determined,  with  an  eye  to  the  spring  rush,  to 
cover  as  many  as  possible  of  the  seventeen  hundred  miles  of 
waterway  before  navigation  closed. 

They  knew,  in  a  vague  way,  that  winter  would  come  early, 
but  they  had  not  counted  on  the  big  September  storm  that 
dashed  their  heavy-laden  boats  against  the  floe-ice,  ultimately 
drove  them  ashore,  and  nearly  cost  the  little  party  their  lives. 
On  that  last  day  of  the  long  struggle  up  the  stream,  a  stiff  north 
easter  was  cutting  the  middle  reach  of  the  mighty  river,  two 
miles  wide  here,  into  a  choppy  and  dangerous  sea. 

I 


THE    MAGNETIC   NORTH 

Day  by  day,  five  men  in  the  two  little  boats,  had  kept  serious 
eyes  on  the  shore.  Then  came  the  morning  when,  out  of  the 
monotonous  cold  and  snow-flurries,  something  new  appeared,  a 
narrow  white  rim  forming  on  the  river  margin — the  first  ice ! 

"Winter  beginning  to  show  his  teeth,"  said  one  man,  with  an 
efrcrt  at  jocosity:,  ;  : 

Day  by  day,  nearer  came  the  menace;  narrower  and  swifter 
ctiil  ran  the  deep  black  water  strip  between  the  encroaching  ice- 
lines.  But  the  thought  that  each  day's  sailing  or  rowing  meant 
many  days  nearer  the  Klondyke,  seemed  to  inspire  a  superhu 
man  energy.  Day  by  day  each  man  had  felt,  and  no  man  yet 
had  said,  "We  must  camp  to-night  for  eight  months."  They 
had  looked  landward,  shivered,  and  held  on  their  way. 

But  on  this  particular  morning,  when  they  took  in  sail,  they 
realised  it  was  to  be  that  abomination  of  desolation  on  the  shore 
or  death.  And  one  or  other  speedily. 

Nearer  the  white  teeth  gleamed,  fiercer  the  gale,  swifter  the 
current,  sweeping  back  the  boats.  The  Mary  C.  was  left  be 
hind,  fighting  for  life,  while  it  seemed  as  if  no  human  power 
could  keep  the  Tulare  from  being  hurled  against  the  western 
shore.  Twice,  in  spite  of  all  they  could  do,  she  was  driven 
within  a  few  feet  of  what  looked  like  certain  death.  With  a 
huge  effort,  that  last  time,  her  little  crew  had  just  got  her  well 
in  mid-stream,  when  a  heavy  roller  breaking  on  the  starboard 
side  drenched  the  men  and  half  filled  the  cockpit.  Each  rower, 
still  pulling  for  dear  life  with  one  hand,  bailed  the  boat  with  the 
other ;  but  for  all  their  promptness  a  certain  amount  of  the  water 
froze  solid  before  they  could  get  it  out. 

"Great  luck,  if  we're  going  to  take  in  water  like  this,"  said 
the  cheerful  Kentuckian,  shipping  his  oar  and  knocking  off  the 
ice — "great  luck  that  all  the  stores  are  so  well  protected." 

"Protected!"  snapped  out  an  anxious,  cast-iron-looking  man 
at  the  rudder. 

"Yes,  protected.  How's  water  to  get  through  the  ice-coat 
that's  over  everything?" 

The  cast-iron  steersman  set  his  jaw  grimly.  They  seemed  to 
be  comparatively  safe  now,  with  half  a  mile  of  open  water  be 
tween  them  and  the  western  shore. 

But  they  sat  as  before,  stiff,  alert,  each  man  in  his  ice  jacket 
that  cracked  and  crunched  as  he  bent  to  his  oar.  Now  right, 
now  left,  again  they  eyed  the  shore. 

Would  it  be — could  it  be  there  they  would  have  to  land?  And 
if  they  did  .  .  .  ? 

2 


WINTER   CAMP    ON   THE   YUKON 

Lord,  how  it  blew ! 

"Hard  a-port!"  called  out  the  steersman.  There,  just  ahead, 
was  a  great  white-capped  "roller"  coming — coming,  the  biggest 
wave  they  had  encountered  since  leaving  open  sea. 

But  MacCann,  the  steersman,  swung  the  boat  straight  into 
the  crested  roller,  and  the  Tulare  took  it  gamely,  "bow  on." 
All  was  going  well  when,  just  in  the  boiling  middle  of  what 
they  had  thought  was  foaming  "white-cap,"  the  boat  struck 
something  solid,  shivered,  and  went  shooting  down,  half  under 
water;  recovered,  up  again,  and  seemed  to  pause  in  a  second's 
doubt  on  the  very  top  of  the  great  wave.  In  that  second  that 
seemed  an  eternity  one  man's  courage  snapped. 

Potts  threw  down  his  oar  and  swore  by and  by he 

wouldn't  pull  another stroke  on  the Yukon. 

While  he  was  pouring  out  the  words,  the  steersman  sprang 
from  the  tiller,  and  seized  Potts'  oar  just  in  time  to  save  the 
boat  from  capsizing.  Then  he  and  the  big  Kentuckian  both 
turned  on  the  distracted  Potts. 

"You  infernal  quitter!"  shouted  the  steersman,  and  choked 
with  fury.  But  even  under  the  insult  of  that  "meanest  word  in 
the  language,"  Potts  sat  glaring  defiantly,  with  his  half-frozen 
hands  in  his  pockets. 

"It  ain't  a  river,  anyhow,  this  ain't,"  he  said.  "It's  plain, 
simple  Hell  and  water." 

The  others  had  no  time  to  realise  that  Potts  was  clean  out  of 
his  senses  for  the  moment,  and  the  Kentuckian,  still  pulling  like 
mad,  faced  the  "quitter"  with  a  determination  born  of  terror. 

"If  you  can't  row,  take  the  rudder !  Damnation !  Take  that 
rudder!  Quick,  or  we'll  kill  you!"  And  he  half  rose  up,  never 
dropping  his  oar. 

Blindly,  Potts  obeyed. 

The  Tulare  was  free  now  from  the  clinging  mass  at  the  bow, 
but  they  knew  they  had  struck  their  first  floe. 

Farther  on  they  could  see  other  white-caps  bringing  other  ice 
masses  down.  But  there  was  no  time  for  terrors  ahead.  The 
gale  was  steadily  driving  them  in  shore  again.  Boat  and  oars 
alike  were  growing  unwieldy  with  their  coating  of  ever-increas 
ing  ice,  and  human  strength  was  no  match  for  the  storm  that 
was  sweeping  down  from  the  Pole. 

Lord,  how  it  blew! 

"There's  a  cove!"  called  out  the  Kentuckian.  "Throw  her 
in!"  he  shouted  to  Potts.  Sullenly  the  new  steersman  obeyed. 

3 


THE   MAGNETIC   NORTH 

Rolling  in  on  a  great  surge,  the  boat  suddenly  turned  in  a 
boiling  eddy,  and  the  first  thing  anybody  knew  was  that  the 
Tulare  was  on  her  side  and  her  crew  in  the  water.  Potts  was 
hanging  on  to  the  gunwale  and  damning  the  others  for  not 
helping  him  to  save  the  boat. 

She  wasn't  much  of  a  boat  when  finally  they  got  her  into 
quiet  water ;  but  the  main  thing  was  they  had  escaped  with  their 
lives  and  rescued  a  good  proportion  of  their  winter  provisions. 
All  the  while  they  were  doing  this  last,  the  Kentuckian  kept 
turning  to  look  anxiously  for  any  sign  of  the  others,  in  his  heart 
bitterly  blaming  himself  for  having  agreed  to  Potts'  coming  into 
the  Tulare  that  day  in  place  of  the  Kentuckian's  own  "pardner." 

When  they  had  piled  the  rescued  provisions  up  on  the  bank, 
and  just  as  they  were  covering  the  heap  of  bacon,  flour,  and 
bean-bags,  boxes,  tools,  and  utensils  with  a  tarpaulin,  up  went  a 
shout,  and  the  two  missing  men  appeared  tramping  along  the 
ice-encrusted  shore. 

Where  was  the  Mary  C.?  Well,  she  was  at  the  bottom  of 
the  Yukon,  and  her  crew  would  like  some  supper. 

They  set  up  a  tent,  and  went  to  bed  that  first  night  extremely 
well  pleased  at  being  alive  on  any  terms. 

But  people  get  over  being  glad  about  almost  anything,  unless 
misfortune  again  puts  an  edge  on  the  circumstance.  The  next 
day,  not  being  in  any  immediate  danger,  the  boon  of  mere  life 
seemed  less  satisfying. 

In  detachments  they  went  up  the  river  several  miles,  and 
down  about  as  far.  They  looked  in  vain  for  any  sign  of  the 
Mary  C.  They  prospected  the  hills.  From  the  heights  behind 
the  camp  they  got  a  pretty  fair  idea  of  the  surrounding  country. 
It  was  not  reassuring. 

"As  to  products,  there  seems  to  be  plenty  of  undersized  tim 
ber,  plenty  of  snow  and  plenty  of  river,  and,  as  far  as  I  can  see, 
just  nothing  else." 

"Well,  there's  oodles  o'  blueberries,"  said  the  Boy,  his  inky- 
looking  mouth  bearing  witness  to  veracity ;  "and  there  are  black 
and  red  currants  in  the  snow,  and  rose-apples " 

"Oh,  yes,"  returned  the  other,  "it's  a  sort  of  garden  of  Eden!" 

A  little  below  here  it  was  four  miles  from  bank  to  bank  of  the 
main  channel,  but  at  this  point  the  river  was  only  about  two 
miles  wide,  and  white  already  with  floating  masses  of  floe-ice 
going  on  a  swift  current  down  towards  the  sea,  four  hundred 
miles  away. 


WINTER   CAMP   ON   THE   YUKON 

The  right  bank  presented  to  the  mighty  river  a  low  chain  of 
hills,  fringed  at  the  base  with  a  scattered  growth  of  scrubby 
spruce,  birch,  willow,  and  cotton-wood.  Timber  line  was  only 
two  hundred  feet  above  the  river  brink;  beyond  that  height, 
rocks  and  moss  covered  with  new-fallen  snow. 

But  if  their  side  seemed  cheerless,  what  of  the  land  on  the 
left  bank?  A  swamp  stretching  endlessly  on  either  hand,  and 
back  from  the  icy  flood  as  far  as  eye  could  see,  broken  only  by 
sloughs  and  an  occasional  ice-rimmed  tarn. 

"We've  been  travelling  just  eight  weeks  to  arrive  at  this,"  said 
the  Kentuckian,  looking  at  the  desolate  scene  with  a  homesick 
eye. 

"We're  not  only  pretty  far  from  home,"  grumbled  another, 
"we're  still  thirteen  hundred  miles  away  from  the  Klondyke." 

These  unenlivening  calculations  were  catching. 

"We're  just  about  twenty-five  hundred  miles  from  the  near 
est  railroad  or  telegraph,  and,  now  that  winter's  down  on  us, 
exactly  eight  months  from  anywhere  in  the  civilised  world." 

They  had  seen  no  sign  of  even  savage  life,  no  white  trader, 
nothing  to  show  that  any  human  foot  had  ever  passed  that  way 
before. 

In  that  stillness  that  was  like  the  stillness  of  death,  they  went 
up  the  hillside,  with  footsteps  muffled  in  the  clinging  snow ;  and 
sixty  feet  above  the  great  river,  in  a  part  of  the  wood  where  the 
timber  was  least  unpromising,  they  marked  out  a  site  for  their 
winter  quarters. 

Then  this  queer  little  company — a  Denver  bank-clerk,  an  ex- 
schoolmaster  from  Nova  Scotia,  an  Irish-American  lawyer  from 
San  Francisco,  a  Kentucky  "Colonel"  who  had  never  smelt  pow 
der,  and  "the  Boy"  (who  was  no  boy  at  all,  but  a  man  of 
twenty- two) — these  five  set  to  work  felling  trees,  clearing  away 
the  snow,  and  digging  foundations  for  a  couple  of  log-cabins — 
one  for  the  Trio,  as  they  called  themselves,  the  other  for  the 
Colonel  and  the  Boy. 

These  two  had  chummed  from  the  hour  they  met  on  the 
steamer  that  carried  them  through  the  Golden  Gate  of  the  Pa 
cific  till — well,  till  the  end  of  my  story. 

The  Colonel  was  a  big  tanned  fellow,  nearly  forty — eldest  of 
the  party — whom  the  others  used  to  guy  discreetly,  because  you 
couldn't  mention  a  place  anywhere  on  the  known  globe,  except 
the  far  north,  which  he  had  not  personally  inspected.  But  for 
this  foible,  as  the  untravelled  considered  it,  he  was  well  liked  and 


THE   MAGNETIC   NORTH 

a  little  feared— except  by  the  Boy,  who  liked  him  "first-rate," 
and  feared  him  not  at  all.  They  had  promptly  adopted  each 
other  before  they  discovered  that  it  was  necessary  to  have  one 
or  more  "pardners."  It  seemed,  from  all  accounts,  to  be  true, 
that  up  there  at  the  top  of  the  world  a  man  alone  is  a  man  lost, 
and  ultimately  the  party  was  added  to  as  aforesaid. 

Only  two  of  them  knew  anything  about  roughing  it.  Jimmie 
O'Flynn  of  'Frisco,  the  Irish-American  lawyer,  had  seen  some 
thing  of  frontier  life,  and  fled  it,  and  MacCann,  the  Nova  Sco- 
tian  schoolmaster,  had  spent  a  month  in  one  of  the  Caribou 
camps,  and  on  the  strength  of  that,  proudly  accepted  the  nick 
name  of  "the  Miner." 

Colonel  George  Warren  and  Morris  Burnet,  the  Boy,  had 
the  best  outfits ;  but  this  fact  was  held  to  be  more  than  counter 
balanced  by  the  value  of  the  schoolmaster's  experience  at  Cari 
bou,  and  by  the  extraordinary  handiness  of  Potts,  the  Denver 
clerk,  who  had  helped  to  build  the  shelter  on  deck  for  the  dis 
abled  sick  on  the  voyage  up.  This  young  man  with  the  big 
mouth  and  lazy  air  had  been  in  the  office  of  a  bank  ever  since  he 
left  school,  and  yet,  under  pressure,  he  discovered  a  natural  neat- 
handedness  and  a  manual  dexterity  justly  envied  by  some  of  his 
fellow-pioneers.  His  outfit  was  not  more  conspicuously  meagre 
than  O'Flynn's,  yet  the  Irishman  was  held  to  be  the  moneyed 
man  of  his  party.  Just  why  was  never  fully  developed,  but  it 
was  always  said,  "O'Flynn  represents  capital";  and  O'Flynn, 
whether  on  that  account,  or  for  a  subtler  and  more  efficient  rea-j 
son,  always  got  the  best  of  everything  that  was  going  without 
money  and  without  price. 

On  board  ship  O'Flynn,  with  his  ready  tongue  and  his  goldenl 
background — "representing  capital" — was  a  leading  spirit.  Pottsj 
the  handy-man  was  a  talker,  too,  and  a  good  second.  But,  oncei 
in  camp,  Mac  the  Miner  was  cock  of  the  walk,  in  those  first! 
days,  quoted  "Caribou,"  and  ordered  everybody  about  to  every-) 
body's  satisfaction. 

In  a  situation  like  this,  the  strongest  lean  on  the  man  who  has 
ever  seen  "anything  like  it"  before.  It  was  a  comfort  that  any 
body  even  thought  he  knew  what  to  do  under  such  new  condi 
tions.  So  the  others  looked  on  with  admiration  and  a  pleasant 
confidence,  while  Mac  boldly  cut  a  hole  in  the  brand-new  tent] 
and  instructed  Potts  how  to  make  a  flange  out  of  a  tin  plate] 
with  which  to  protect  the  canvas  from  the  heat  of  the  stove-pipe. 

6 


I 


WINTER   CAMP   ON   THE  YUKON 

No  more  cooking  now  in  the  bitter  open.     Everyone  admired 
Mac's  foresight  when  he  said: 

"We  must  build  rock  fireplaces  in  our  cabins,  or  we'll  find 
our  one  little  Yukon  stove  burnt  out  before  the  winter  is  over — 
before  we  have  a  chance  to  use  it  out  prospecting."    And  when 
Mac  said  they  must  pool  their  stores,  the  Colonel  and  the  Boy 
I  agreed  as  readily  as  O'Flynn,  whose  stores  consisted  of  a  little 
I  bacon,  some  navy  beans,  and  a  demijohn  of  whisky.    O'Flynn, 
'  however,  urged  that  probably  every  man  had  a  little  "mite  o' 
somethin'  "  that  he  had  brought  specially  for  himself — somethin' 
his  friends  had  given  him,  for  instance.    There  was  Potts,  now. 

I  They  all  knew  how  the  future  Mrs.  Potts  had  brought  a  plum- 
cake  down  to  the  steamer,  when  she  came  to  say  good-bye,  and 
made  Potts  promise  he  wouldn't  unseal  the  packet  till  Christ 
mas.     It  wouldn't  do  to  pool  Potts'  cake — never!     There  was 
the  Colonel,  the  only  man  that  had  a  sack  of  coffee.  He  wouldn't 
_  listen  when  they  had  told  him  tea  was  the  stuff  up  here,  and — 
I  well,  perhaps  other  fellows  didn't  miss  coffee  as  much  as  a  Ken- 

I  fuckian,  though  he  had  heard Never  mind ;  they  wouldn't 

pool  the  coffee.     The  Boy  had  some  preserved  fruit  that  he 

s  eemed  inclined  to  be  a  hog  about 

"Oh,  look  here.    I  haven't  touched  it!" 

I      "Just  what  I'm  sayin'.    You're  hoardin'  that  fruit." 
It  was  known  that  Mac  had  a  very  dacint  little  medicine- 
c<:hest.    Of  course,  if  any  fellow  was  ill,  Mac  wasn't  the  man  to 
r  efuse  him  a  little  cold  pizen;  but  he  must  be  allowed  to  keep 
h-iis  own  medicine  chest — and  that  little  pot  o'  Dundee  marma- 
•Jade.    As  for  O'Flynn,  he  would  look  after  the  "dimmi-john." 
But  Mac  was  dead  against  the  whisky  clause.    Alcohol  had 
|b!  een  the  curse  of  Caribou,  and  in  this  camp  spirits  were  to  be  for 
n1  medicinal  purposes  only.     Whereon  a  cloud  descended  on  Mr. 
"O'Flynn,  and  his  health  began  to  suffer;  but  the  precious  demi- 
<bhn  was  put  away  "in  stock"  along  with  the  single  bottles  be 
lt  onging  to  the  others.     Mac  had  taken  an  inventory,  and  no 
fc'jne  in  those  early  days  dared  touch  anything  without  his  per- 
%Luission. 

They  had  cut  into  the  mountain-side  for  a  level  foundation, 
at  -  id  were  hard  at  it  now  hauling  logs. 

I      "I  wonder,"  said  the  Boy,  stopping  a  moment  in  his  work, 
ad  looking  at  the  bleak  prospect  round  him — "I  wonder  if 
we're  going  to  see  anybody  all  winter." 

7 


THE   MAGNETIC   NORTH 

"Oh,  sure  to,"  Mac  thought;  "Indians,  anyhow." 

"Well,  I  begin  to  wish  they'd  mosy  along,"  said  Potts;  and 
the  sociable  O'Flynn  backed  him  up. 

It  was  towards  noon  on  the  sixth  day  after  landing  (they  had 
come  to  speak  of  this  now  as  a  voluntary  affair),  when  they 
were  electrified  by  hearing  strange  voices ;  looked  up  from  their 
work,  and  saw  two  white  men  seated  on  a  big  cake  of  ice  going 
down  the  river  with  the  current.  When  they  recovered  suffi 
ciently  from  their  astonishment  at  the  spectacle,  they  ran  down 
the  hillside,  and  proposed  to  help  the  "castaways"  to  land.  Not 
a  bit  of  it. 

"Land  in  that  place!  What  you  take  us  for?  Not  much! 
We're  going  to  St.  Michael's." 

They  had  a  small  boat  drawn  up  by  them  on  the  ice,  and  one 
man  was  dressed  in  magnificent  furs,  a  long  sable  overcoat  and 
cap,  and  wearing  quite  the  air  of  a  North  Pole  Nabob. 

"Got  any  grub  ?"  Mac  called  out.  • 

"Yes;  want  some?" 

"Oh  no;  I  thought  you " 

"You're  not  going  to  try  to  live  through  the  winter  there?" 

"Yes." 

"Lord !  you  are  in  a  fix !" 

"That's  we  thought  about  you." 

But  the  travellers  on  the  ice-raft  went  by  laughing  and  joking 
at  the  men  safe  on  shore  with  their  tents  and  provisions.  It 
made  some  of  them  visibly  uneasy.  Would  they  win  through? 
Were  they  crazy  to  try  it?  They  had  looked  forward  eagerly 
to  the  first  encounter  with  their  kind,  but  this  vision  floating  by 
on  the  treacherous  ice,  of  men  who  rather  dared  the  current  and 
the  crash  of  contending  floes  than  land  where  they  were,  seemed 
of  evil  augury.  The  little  incident  left  a  curiously  sinister  im 
pression  on  the  camp. 

Even  Mac  was  found  agreeing  with  the  others  of  his  Trio 
that,  since  they  had  a  grand,  tough  time  in  front  of  them,  it  was 
advisable  to  get  through  the  black  months  ahead  with  as  little 
wear  and  tear  as  possible.  In  spite  of  the  Trio's  superior  talents, 
they  built  a  small  ramshackle  cabin  with  a  tumble-down  fire 
place,  which  served  them  so  ill  that  they  ultimately  spent  all 
their  waking  hours  in  the  more  comfortable  quarters  of  the 
Colonel  and  the  Boy.  It  had  been  agreed  that  these  two,  with 
'  the  help,  or,  at  all  events,  the  advice,  of  the  others,  should  build 
the  bigger,  better  cabin,  where  the  stores  should  be  kept  and  the 

8 


WINTER   CAMP   ON   THE  YUKON 

whole  party  should  mess — a  cabin  with  a  solid  outside  chimney 
of  stone  and  an  open  fireplace,  generous  of  proportion  and  an 
cient  of  design,  "just  like  down  South." 

The  weather  was  growing  steadily  colder;  the  ice  was  solid 
now  many  feet  out  from  each  bank  of  the  river.  In  the  middle 
of  the  flood  the  clotted  current  still  ran  with  floe-ice,  but  it  was 
plain  the  river  was  settling  down  for  its  long  sleep. 

Not  silently,  not  without  stress  and  thunder.  The  handful 
of  dwellers  on  the  shore  would  be  waked  in  the  night  by  the 
shock  and  crash  of  colliding  floes,  the  sound  of  the  great  winds 

rushing  by,  and "Hush!  What's  that?"  Tired  men 

would  start  up  out  of  sleep  and  sit  straight  to  listen.  Down  be 
low,  among  the  ice-packs,  the  noise  as  of  an  old-time  battle  going 
on — tumult  and  crashing  and  a  boom !  boom !  like  cannonading. 

Then  one  morning  they  woke  to  find  all  still,  the  conflict  over, 
the  Yukon  frozen  from  bank  to  bank.  No  sound  from  that 
day  on ;  no  more  running  water  for  a  good  seven  months. 

Winter  had  come. 

While  the  work  went  forward  they  often  spoke  of  the  only 
two  people  they  had  thus  far  seen.  Both  Potts  and  O'Flynn 
had  been  heard  to  envy  them. 

Mac  had  happened  to  say  that  he  believed  the  fellow  in  furs 
was  an  Englishman — a  Canadian,  at  the  very  least.  The  Ameri 
cans  chaffed  him,  and  said,  "That  accounts  for  it,"  in  a  tone  not 
intended  to  flatter.  Mac  hadn't  thought  of  it  before,  but  he  was 
prepared  to  swear  now  that  if  an  Englishman — they  were  the 
hardiest  pioneers  on  earth — or  a  Canadian  was  in  favour  of 
lighting  out,  "it  must  be  for  some  good  reason." 

"Oh  yes ;  we  all  know  that  reason." 

The  Americans  laughed,  and  Mac,  growing  hot,  was  goaded 
into  vaunting  the  Britisher  and  running  down  the  Yankee. 

"Yankee!"  echoed  the  Kentuckian.  "And  up  in  Nova  Scotia 
they  let  this  man  teach  school !  Doesn't  know  the  difference  yet 
between  the  little  corner  they  call  New  England  and  all  the  rest 
of  America." 

"All  the  rest  of  America!"  shouted  Mac.  "The  cheeky  way 
you  people  of  the  States  have  of  gobbling  the  Continent  (in 
talk),  just  as  though  the  British  part  of  it  wasn't  the  bigger 
half!" 

"Yes;  but  when  you  think  which  half,  you  ought  to  be  obliged 
to  any  fellow  for  forgetting  it."  And  then  they  referred  to 

9 


THE   MAGNETIC   NORTH 

effete  monarchical  institutions,  and  by  the  time  they  reached  the 
question  of  the  kind  of  king  the  Prince  of  Wales  would  make, 
Mac  was  hardly  a  safe  man  to  argue  with. 

There  was  one  bond  between  him  and  the  Kentucky  Colonel : 
they  were  both  religious  men ;  and  although  Mac  was  blue  Pres 
byterian  and  an  inveterate  theologian,  somehow,  out  here  in  the 
wilderness,  it  was  more  possible  to  forgive  a  man  for  illusions 
about  the  Apostolic  Succession  and  mistaken  views  upon  Church 
government.  The  Colonel,  at  all  events,  was  not  so  lax  but 
what  he  was  ready  to  back  up  the  Calvinist  in  an  endeavour  to 
keep  the  Sabbath  (with  a  careful  compromise  between  church 
and  chapel)  and  help  him  to  conduct  a  Saturday-night  Bible- 
class. 

But  if  the  Boy  attended  the  Bible-class  with  fervour  and  aired 
his  heresies  with  uncommon  gusto,  if  he  took  with  equal  genial 
ity  Colonel  Warren's  staid  remonstrance  and  Mac's  fiery  objur 
gation,  Sunday  morning  invariably  found  him  more  "agnostic" 
than  ever,  stoutly  declining  to  recognise  the  necessity  for  "serv 
ice."  For  this  was  an  occasion  when  you  couldn't  argue  or  floor 
anybody,  or  hope  to  make  Mac  "hoppin'  mad,"  or  have  the 
smallest  kind  of  a  shindy.  The  Colonel  read  the  lessons,  Mac 
prayed,  and  they  all  sang,  particularly  O'Flynn.  Now,  the  Boy 
couldn't  sing  a  note,  so  there  was  no  fair  division  of  entertain 
ment,  wherefore  he  would  go  off  into  the  woods  with  his  gun 
for  company,  and  the  Catholic  O'Flynn,  and  even  Potts,  were  in 
better  odour  than  he  "down  in  camp"  on  Sundays.  So  far  you 
may  travel,  and  yet  not  escape  the  tyranny  of  the  "outworn 
creeds." 

The  Boy  came  back  a  full  hour  before  service  on  the  second 
Sunday  with  a  couple  of  grouse  and  a  beaming  countenance. 
Mac,  who  was  cook  that  week,  was  the  only  man  left  in  the 
tent.  He  looked  agreeably  surprised  at  the  apparition. 

"Hello !"  says  he  more  pleasantly  than  his  Sunday  gloom  usu 
ally  permitted.  "Back  in  time  for  service?" 

"I've  found  a  native,"  says  the  Boy,  speaking  as  proudly  as 
any  Columbus.  ^  "He's  hurt  his  foot,  and  he's  only  got  one  eye, 
but  he's  splendid.  Told  me  no  end  of  things.  He's  coming 
here  as  fast  as  his  foot  will  let  him— he  and  three  other  In 
dians—Esquimaux,  I  mean.  They  haven't  had  anything  to  eat 
but  berries  and  roots  for  seven  days." 

The  Boy  was  feverishly  overhauling  the  provisions  behind  the 
stove. 

10 


WINTER   CAMP    ON   THE   YUKON 

"Look  here,"  says  Mac,  "hold  on  there.  I  don't  know  that 
we've  come  all  this  way  to  feed  a  lot  o'  dirty  savages." 

"But  they're  starving."  Then,  seeing  that  that  fact  did  not 
produce  the  desired  impression :  "My  savage  is  an  awfully  good 
fellow.  He — he's  a  converted  savage,  seems  to  be  quite  a  Chris 
tian."  Then,  hastily  following  up  his  advantage:  "He's  been 
taught  English  by  the  Jesuits  at  the  mission  forty  miles  above 
us,  on  the  river.  He  can  give  us  a  whole  heap  o'  tips." 

Mac  was  slowly  bringing  out  a  small  panful  of  cold  boiled 
beans. 

"There  are  four  of  them,"  said  the  Boy — "big  fellows,  almost 
as  big  as  our  Colonel,  and  awful  hungry." 

Mac  looked  at  the  handful  of  beans  and  then  at  the  small 
sheet-iron  stove. 

"There  are  more  cooking,"  says  he  not  over-cordially. 

"The  one  that  talks  good  English  is  the  son  of  the  chief.  You 
can  see  he's  different  from  the  others.  Knows  a  frightful  lot. 
He's  taught  me  some  of  his  language  already.  The  men  with 
him  said  'Kaiomi'  to  everything  I  asked,  and  that  means  'No 
savvy.'  Says  he'll  teach  me — he'll  teach  all  of  us — how  to 
snow-shoe." 

"We  know  how  to  snow-shoe." 

"Oh,  I  mean  on  those  long  narrow  snow-shoes  that  make  you 
go  so  fast  you  always  trip  up !  He'll  show  us  how  to  steer  with 
a  pole,  and  how  to  make  fish-traps  and — and  everything." 

Mac  began  measuring  out  some  tea. 

"He's  got  a  team  of  Esquimaux  dogs — calls  'em  Mahlemeuts, 
and  he's  got  a  birch-bark  canoe,  and  a  skin  kyak  from  the  coast." 
Then  with  an  inspiration:  "His  people  are  the  sort  of  Royal 
Family  dowrn  there,"  added  the  Boy,  thinking  to  appeal  to  the 
Britisher's  monarchical  instincts. 

Mac  had  meditatively  laid  his  hand  on  a  side  of  bacon,  the 
Boy's  eyes  following. 

"He's  asked  us — all  of  us,  and  we're  five — up  to  visit  him  at 
Pymeut,  the  first  village  above  us  here."  Mac  took  up  a  knife 
to  cut  the  bacon.  "And — good  gracious!  why,  I  forgot  the 
grouse;  they  can  have  the  grouse!" 

"No,  they  can't,"  said  Mac  firmly;  "they're  lucky  to  get  ba 
con." 

The  Boy's  face  darkened  ominously.  When  he  looked  like 
that  the  elder  men  found  it  was  "healthiest  to  give  him  his  head." 
But  the  young  face  cleared  as  quickly  as  it  had  clouded.  After 

II 


THE   MAGNETIC   NORTH 

all,  the  point  wasn't  worth  fighting  for,  since  grouse  would  take 
time  to  cook,  and — here  were  the  natives  coming  painfully  along 
the  shore. 

The  Boy  ran  out  and  shouted  and  waved  his  cap.  The  other 
men  of  the  camp,  who  had  gone  in  the  opposite  direction,  across 
the  river  ice  to  look  at  an  air-hole,  came  hurrying  back  and 
reached  camp  about  the  same  time  as  the  visitors. 

"Thought  you  said  they  were  big  fellows !"  commented  Mac, 
who  had  come  to  the  door  for  a  glimpse  of  the  Indians  as  they 
toiled  up  the  slope. 

|| Well,  so  they  are!" 

"Why,  the  Colonel  would  make  two  of  any  one  of  them." 

"The  Colonel!  Oh  well,  you  can't  expect  anybody  else  to  be 
quite  as  big  as  that.  I  was  in  a  hurry,  but  I  suppose  what  I 
meant  was,  they  could  eat  as  much  as  the  Colonel." 

"How  do  you  know?" 

"Well,  just  look  how  broad  they  are.  It  doesn't  matter  to 
your  stomach  whether  you're  big  up  and  down,  or  big  to  and 
fro." 

"It's  their  furs  make  'em  look  like  that.  They're  the  most 
awful  little  runts  I  ever  saw!" 

"Well,  I  reckon  you'd  think  they  were  big,  too — big  as  Nova 
Scotia — if  youd  found  'em — come  on  'em  suddenly  like  that  in 
the  woods " 

"Which  is  the.  .  .  ?" 

"Oh,  the  son  of  the  chief  is  in  the  middle,  the  one  who  is 
taking  off  his  civilised  fur-coat.  He  says  his  father's  got  a  heap 
of  pelts  (you  could  get  things  for  your  collection,  Mac),  and 
he's  got  two  reindeer-skin  shirts  with  hoods — 'parkis,'  you  know, 
like  the  others  are  wearing " 

They  were  quite  near  now. 

"How  do,"  said  the  foremost  native  affably. 

"How  do."  ^  The  Boy  came  forward  and  shook  hands  as 
though  he  hadn't  seen  him  for  a  month.  "This,"  says  he,  turning 
first  to  Mac  and  then  to  the  other  white  men,  "this  is  Prince 
Nicholas  of  Pymeut.  Walk  right  in,  all  of  you,  and  have  some 
thing  to  eat." 

The  visitors  sat  on  the  ground  round  the  stove,  as  close  as  they 
could  get  without  scorching,  and  the  atmosphere  was  quickly 
heavy  with  their  presence.  When  they  slipped  back  their  hoods 
it  was  seen  that  two  of  the  men  wore  the  "tartar  tonsure,"  after 
the  fashion  of  the  coast. 

12 


WINTER   CAMP   ON   THE  YUKON 

"Where  do  you  come  from?"  inquired  the  Colonel  of  the  man 
nearest  him,  who  simply  blinked  and  was  dumb. 

"This  is  the  one  that  talks  English,"  said  the  Boy,  indicating 
Nicholas,  "and  he  lives  at  Pymeut,  and  he's  been  converted." 

"How  far  is  Pymeut?" 

"We  sleep  Pymeut  to-night,"  says  Nicholas. 

"Which  way?" 

The  native  jerked  his  head  up  the  river. 

"Many  people  there?" 

He  nodded. 

"White  men,  too?" 

He  shook  his  head. 

"How  far  to  the  nearest  white  men?" 

Nicholas's  mind  wandered  from  the  white  man's  catechism 
and  fixed  itself  on  his  race's  immemorial  problem:  how  far  it 
was  to  the  nearest  thing  to  eat. 

"I  thought  you  said  he  could  speak  English." 

"So  he  can,  first  rate.  He  and  I  had  a  great  pow-wow,  didn't 
we,  Nicholas?'^ 

Nicholas  smiled  absently,  and  fixed  his  one  eye  on  the  bacon 
that  Mac  was  cutting  on  the  deal  box  into  such  delicate  slices. 

"He'll  talk  all  right,"  said  the  Boy,  "when  he's  had  some 
breakfast." 

Mac  had  finished  the  cutting,  and  now  put  the  frying-pan  on 
an  open  hole  in  the  little  stove. 

"Cook  him?"  inquired  Nicholas. 

"Yes.    Don't  you  cook  him?" 

"Take  heap  time,  cook  him." 

"You  couldn't  eat  it  raw!" 

Nicholas  nodded  emphatically. 

Mac  said  "No,"  but  the  Boy  was  curious  to  see  if  they  would 
really  eat  it  uncooked. 

"Let  them  have  some  of  it  raw  while  the  rest  is  frying";  and 
he  beckoned  the  visitors  to  the  deal  box.  They  made  a  dart  for 
ward,  gathered  up  the  fat  bacon  several  slices  at  a  time,  and 
pushed  it  into  their  mouths. 

"Ugh!"  said  the  Colonel  under  his  breath. 

Mac  quickly  swept  what  was  left  into  the  frying-pan,  and 
began  to  cut  a  fresh  lot. 

The  Boy  divided  the  cold  beans,  got  out  biscuits,  and  poured 
the  tea,  while  silence  and  a  strong  smell  of  ancient  fish  and 
rancid  seal  pervaded  the  little  tent. 

13 


THE   MAGNETIC   NORTH 

O'Flynn  put  a  question  or  two,  but  Nicholas  had  gone  stone- 
deaf.  There  was  no  doubt  about  it,  they  had  been  starving. 

After  a  good  feed  they  sat  stolidly  by  the  fire,  with  no  sign  of 
consciousness,  save  the  blinking  of  beady  eyes,  till  the  Colonel 
suggested  a  smoke.  Then  they  all  grinned  broadly,  and  nodded 
with  great  vigour.  Even  those  who  had  no  other  English  under 
stood  "tobacco." 

When  he  had  puffed  awhile,  Nicholas  took  his  pipe  out  of  his 
mouth,  and,  looking  at  the  Boy,  said : 

"You  no  savvy  catch  fish  in  winter?" 

"Through  the  ice?    No.     How  you  do  it?" 

"Make  hole — put  down  trap — heap  fish  all  winter." 

"You  get  enough  to  live  on  ?"  asked  the  Colonel. 

"They  must  have  dried  fish,  too,  left  over  from  the  summer," 
said  Mac. 

^  Nicholas  agreed.     "And  berries  and  flour.     When  snow  be 
gin  get  soft,  Pymeuts  all  go  off "     He  motioned  with  his 

big  head  towards  the  hills. 

"What  do  you  get  there  ?"    Mac  was  becoming  interested. 

"Caribou,  moose " 

"Any  furs?" 

"Yes;  trap  ermun,  marten " 

"Lynx,  too,  I  suppose,  and  fox?" 

Nicholas  nodded.  "All  kinds.  Wolf — muskrat,  otter — wolv 
erine — all  kinds." 

"You  got  some  skins  now?"  asked  the  Nova  Scotian. 

"Y-yes.  More  when  snow  get  soft.  You  come  Pymeut — me 
show." 

"Where  have  ye  been  just  now?"  asked  O'Flynn. 

"St.  Michael." 

"How  long  since  ye  left  there?" 

"Twelve  sleeps." 

"He  means  thirteen  days." 

Nicholas  nodded. 

"They  couldn't  possibly  walk  that  far  in " 

"Oh  yes,"  says  the  Boy;  "they  don't  follow  the  windings  of 
the  river,  they  cut  across  the  portage,  you  know." 

"Snow  come — no  trail — big  mountains — all  get  lost." 

"What  did  you  go  to  St.  Michael's  for?" 

"Oh,  me  pilot.  Me  go  all  over.  Me  leave  N.  A.  T.  and  T 
boat  St.  Michael's  last  trip." 


WINTER  CAMP   ON   THE  YUKON 

"Then  you're  in  the  employ  of  the  great  North  American 
Trading  and  Transportation  Company?" 

Nicholas  gave  that  funny  little  duck  of  the  head  that  meant 
yes. 

"That's  how  you  learnt  English,"  says  the  Colonel. 

"No;  me  learn  English  at  Holy  Cross.    Me  been  baptize." 

"At  that  Jesuit  mission  up  yonder?" 

"Forty  mile." 

"Well,"  says  Potts,  "I  guess  you've  had  enough  walking  for 
one  winter." 

Nicholas  seemed  not  to  follow  this  observation.  The  Boy  in 
terpreted  : 

"You  heap  tired,  eh?  You  no  go  any  more  long  walk  till  ice 
go  out,  eh?" 

Nicholas  grinned. 

"Me  go  Ikogimeut — all  Pymeut  go." 

"What  for?" 

"Big  feast." 

"Oh,  the  Russian  mission  there  gives  a  feast?" 

"No.    Big  Innuit  feast." 

"When?" 

"Pretty  quick.  Every  year  big  feast  down  to  Ikogimeut  when 
Yukon  ice  get  hard,  so  man  go  safe  with  dog-team." 

"Do  many  people  go?" 

"All  Innuit  go,  plenty  Ingalik  go." 

"How  far  do  they  come?" 

"All  over;  come  from  Koserefsky,  come  from  Anvik — some 
time  Nulato." 

"Why,  Nulato's  an  awful  distance  from  Ikogimeut." 

"Three  hundred  and  twenty  miles,"  said  the  pilot,  proud  of 
his  general  information,  and  quite  ready,  since  he  had  got  a  pipe 
between  his  teeth,  to  be  friendly  and  communicative. 

"What  do  you  do  at  Ikogimeut  when  you  have  these " 

"Big  fire — big  feed — tell  heap  stories — big  dance.  Oh,  heap 
big  time!" 

"Once  every  year,  eh,  down  at  Ikogimeut?" 

"Three  times  ev'  year.  Ev'  village,  and" — he  lowered  his 
voice,  not  with  any  hit  of  reverence  or  awe,  but  with  an  air  of 
making  a  sly  and  cheerful  confidence — "and  when  man  die." 

"You  make  a  feast  and  have  a  dance  when  a  friend  dies?" 

"If  no  priests.  Priests  no  like.  Priests  say,  'Man  no  dead; 

15 


THE   MAGNETIC   NORTH 

man  gone  up.'"     Nicholas  pondered  the  strange  saying,  and 
slowly  shook  his  head. 

"In  that  the  priests  are  right,"  said  Mac  grudgingly. 

It  was  anything  but  politic,  but  for  the  life  of  him  the  Boy 
couldn't  help  chipping  in : 

"You  think  when  man  dead  he  stay  dead,  eh,  and  you  might 
as  well  make  a  feast?" 

Nicholas  gave  his  quick  nod. 

"We  got  heap  muskeetah,  we  cold,  we  hungry.  We  here  heap 
long  time.  Dead  man,  he  done.  Why  no  big  feast?  Oh  yes, 
heap  big  feast." 

The  Boy  was  enraptured.  He  would  gladly  have  encouraged 
these  pagan  deliverances  on  the  part  of  the  converted  Prince,  but 
the  Colonel  was  scandalised,  and  Mac,  although  in  his  heart  of 
hearts  not  ill-satisfied  at  the  evidence  of  the  skin-deep  Christian 
ity  of  a  man  delivered  over  to  the  corrupt  teaching  of  the  Jesuits, 
found  in  this  last  fact  all  the  stronger  reason  for  the  instant 
organisation  of  a  good  Protestant  prayer-meeting.  Nicholas  of 
Pymeut  must  not  be  allowed  to  think  it  was  only  Jesuits  who 
remembered  the  Sabbath  day  to  keep  it  holy. 

And  the  three  "pore  benighted  heathen"  along  with  him,  if 
they  didn't  understand  English  words,  they  should  have  an  ob 
ject-lesson,  and  Mac  would  himself  pray  the  prayers  they 
couldn't  utter  for  themselves.  He  jumped  up,  motioned  the  Boy 
to  put  on  more  wood,  cleared  away  the  granite-ware  dishes,  filled 
the  bean-pot  and  set  it  back  to  simmer,  while  the  Colonel  got  out 
Mac's  Bible  and  his  own  Prayer-Book. 

The  Boy  did  his  stoking  gloomily,  reading  aright  these  por 
tents.  Almost  eclipsed  was  joy  in  this  "find"  of  his  (for  he 
regarded  the  precious  Nicholas  as  his  own  special  property).  It 
was  all  going  to  end  in  his — the  Boy's — being  hooked  in  for 
service.  As  long  as  the  Esquimaux  were  there  he  couldn't,  of 
course,  tear  himself  away.  And  here  was  the  chance  they'd  all 
been  waiting  for.  Here  was  a  native  chock-full  of  knowledge  of 
the  natural  law  and  the  immemorial  gospel  of  the  North,  who 
would  be  gone  soon — oh,  very  soon,  if  Mac  and  the  Colonel 
went  on  like  this — and  they  were  going  ta  choke  off  Nicholas's 
communicativeness  with — a  service ! 

"It's  Sunday,  you  know,"  says  the  Colonel  to  the  Prince, 
laying  open  his  book,  "and  we  were  just  going  to  have  church. 
You  are  accustomed  to  going  to  church  at  Holy  Cross,  aren't 
you  ?" 

16 


WINTER   CAMP    ON   THE   YUKON 

"When  me  kid  me  go  church." 

"You  haven't  gone  since  you  grew  up?  They  still  have  church 
there,  don't  they?" 

"Oh,  Father  Brachet,  him  have  church." 

"Why  don't  you  go?" 

Nicholas  was  vaguely  conscious  of  threatened  disapproval. 

"Me.  .  . me  must  take  up  fish-traps." 

"Can't  you  do  that  another  day?" 

It  seemed  not  to  have  occurred  to  Nicholas  before.  He  sat 
and  considered  the  matter. 

"Isn't  Father  Brachet,"  began  the  Colonel  gravely — "he 
doesn't  like  it,  does  he,  when  you  don't  come  to  church?" 

"He  take  care  him  church;  him  know  me  take  care  me  fish- 
trap." 

But  Nicholas  saw  plainly  out  of  his  one  eye  that  he  was  not 
growing  in  popularity.  Suddenly  that  solitary  organ  gleamed 
with  self-justification. 

"Me  bring  fish  to  Father  Brachet  and  to  Mother  Aloysius  and 
the  Sisters." 

Mac  and  the  Colonel  exchanged  dark  glances. 

"Do  Mother  Aloysius  and  the  Sisters  live  where  Father 
Brachet  does?" 

"Father  Brachet,  and  Father  Wills,  and  Brother  Paul,  and 
Brother  Etienne,  all  here."  The  native  put  two  fingers  on  the 
floor.  "Big  white  cross  in  middle" — he  laid  down  his  pipe  to 
personate  the  cross — "here" — indicating  the  other  side — "here 
Mother  Aloysius  and  the  Sisters." 

"I  thought,"  says  Mac,  "we'd  be  hearing  of  a  convent  con 
venient." 

"Me  help  Father  Brachet,"  observed  Nicholas  proudly.  "Me 
show  him  boys  how  make  traps,  show  him  girls  how  make  muck- 
lucks." 

"What!"  gasps  the  horrified  Mac,  "Father  Brachet  has  got  a 
family?" 

"Famly?"  inquired  Nicholas.  "Kaiomi";  and  he  shook  his 
head  uncertainly. 

"You  say  Father  Brachet  has  got  boys,  and" — as  though  this 
were  a  yet  deeper  brand  of  iniquity — "girls?" 

Nicholas,  though  greatly  mystified,  nodded  firmly. 

"I  suppose  he  thinks  away  off  up  here  nobody  will  ever  know. 
Oh,  these  Jesuits !" 

"How  many  children  has  this  shameless  priest?" 

17 


THE   MAGNETIC   NORTH 

"Father  Brachet,  him  got  seventeen  boys,  and — me  no  savvy 
how  much  girl — twelve  girl  .  .  .  twenty  girl  ..." 

The  Boy,  who  had  been  splitting  with  inward  laughter,  ex 
ploded  at  this  juncture. 

"He  keeps  a  native  school,  Mac." 

"Yes,"  says  Nicholas,  "teach  boy  make  table,  chair,  potatoes 
grow — all  kinds.  Sisters  teach  girl  make  dinner,  wash — all 
kinds.  Heap  good  people  up  at  Holy  Cross." 

"Divil  a  doubt  of  it,"  says  O'Flynn. 

But  this  blind  belauding  of  the  children  of  Loyola  only  fired 
Mac  the  more  to  give  the  heathen  a  glimpse  of  the  true  light. 
In  what  darkness  must  they  grope  when  a  sly,  intriguing  Jesuit 
(it  was  well  known  they  were  all  like  that)  was  for  them  a  type 
of  the  "heap  good  man" — a  priest,  forsooth,  who  winked  at  Sab 
bath-breaking  because  he  and  his  neighbouring  nuns  shared  in 
the  spoil! 

Well,  they  must  try  to  have  a  truly  impressive  service.  Mac 
and  the  Colonel  telegraphed  agreement  on  this  head.  Savages 
were  said  to  be  specially  touched  by  music. 

"I  suppose  when  you  were  a  kid  the  Jesuits  taught  you  chants 
and  so  on,"  said  the  Colonel,  kindly. 

"Kaiomi,"  answered  Nicholas  after  reflection. 

"You  can  sing,  can't  you  ?"  asks  O'Flynn. 

"Sing?     No,  me  dance!" 

The  Boy  roared  with  delight. 

"Why,  yes,  I  never  thought  of  that.  You  fellows  do  the 
songs,  and  Nicholas  and  I'll  do  the  dances." 

Mac  glowered  angrily.  "Look  here :  if  you  don't  mind  being 
blasphemous  for  yourself,  don't  demoralise  the  natives." 

"Well,  I  like  that!  Didn't  Miriam  dance  before  the  Lord? 
Why  shouldn't  Nicholas  and  me?" 

The  Colonel  cleared  his  throat,  and  began  to  read  the  lessons 
for  the  day.  The  natives  sat  and  watched  him  closely.  They 
really  behaved  very  well,  and  the  Boy  was  enormously  proud  of 
his  new  friends.  There  was  a  great  deal  at  stake.  The  Boy  felt 
he  must  walk  warily,  and  he  already  regretted  those  light  ex 
pressions  about  dancing  before  the  Lord.  All  the  fun  of  the 
winter  might  depend  on  a  friendly  relation  between  Pymeut  and 
the  camp.  It  was  essential  that  the  Esquimaux  should  not  only 
receive,  but  make,  a  good  impression. 

The  singing  "From  Greenland's  icy  mountains  to  India's  coral 
strand"  seemed  to  please  them;  but  when,  after  the  Colonel's 

18 


WINTER   CAMP    ON   THE   YUKON 

"Here  endeth  the  second  lesson,"  Mac  said,  in  sepulchral  tones, 
"Let  us  pray,"  the  visitors  seemed  to  think  it  was  time  to  go 
home. 

"No,"  said  Mac  sternly,  "they  mustn't  go  in  the  middle  of  the 
meeting";  and  he  proceeded  to  kneel  down. 

But  Nicholas  was  putting  on  his  fur  coat,  and  the  others  only 
waited  to  follow  him  out.  The  Boy,  greatly  concerned  lest, 
after  all,  the  visit  should  end  badly,  dropped  on  his  knees  to  add 
the  force  of  his  own  example,  and  through  the  opening  phrases 
of  Mac's  prayer  the  agnostic  was  heard  saying,  in  a  loud  stage- 
whisper,  "Do  like  me — down!  Look  here!  Suppose  you  ask  us 
come  big  feast,  and  in  the  middle  of  your  dance  we  all  go 
home . 

"Oh  no,"  remonstrated  Nicholas. 

"Very  well.  These  friends  o'  mine  no  like  man  go  home  in 
the  middle.  They  heap  mad  at  me  when  I  no  stay.  You 
savvy?" 

"Me  savvy,"  says  Nicholas  slowly  and  rather  depressed. 

"Kneel  down,  then,"  says  the  Boy.  And  first  Nicholas,  and 
then  the  others,  went  on  their  knees. 

Alternately  they  looked  in  the  Boy's  corner  where  the  grub 
was,  and  then  over  their  shoulders  at  the  droning  Mac  and  back, 
catching  the  Boy's  eye,  and  returning  his  reassuring  nods  and 
grins. 

Mac,  who  had  had  no  innings  up  to  this  point,  was  now  em 
barked  upon  a  most  congenial  occupation.  Wrestling  with  the 
Lord  on  behalf  of  the  heathen,  he  lost  count  of  time.  On  and  on 
the  prayer  wound  its  slow  way ;  involution  after  involution,  coil 
after  coil,  like  a  snake,  the  Boy  thought,  lazing  in  the  sun.  Un 
accustomed  knees  grew  sore. 

"Hearken  to  the  cry  of  them  that  walk  in  darkness,  misled  by 
wolves  in  sheep's  clothing — wolves,  Lord,  wearing  the  sign  of 
the  Holy  Cross " 

O'Flynn  shuffled,  and  Mac  pulled  himself  up.  No  light  task 
this  of  conveying  to  the  Creator,  in  covert  terms,  a  due  sense  of 
the  iniquity  of  the  Jesuits,  without,  at  the  same  time,  stirring 
O'Flynn's  bile,  and  seeing  him  get  up  and  stalk  out  of  meeting, 
as  had  happened  once  before. 

O'Flynn  was  not  deeply  concerned  about  religious  questions, 
but  "there  were  limits."  The  problem  was  how  to  rouse  the 
Lord  without  rousing  O'Flynn — a  piece  of  negotiation  so  deli 
cate,  calling  for  a  skill  in  pious  invective  so  infinitely  absorbing 

19 


THE   MAGNETIC   NORTH 

to  Mac's  particular  cast  of  mind,  that  he  was  quickly  stone-blind 
and  deaf  to  all  things  else. 

"Not  all  the  heathen  are  sunk  in  iniquity ;  but  they  are  weak, 
tempted,  and  they  weary,  Lord !" 

"Amen,"  said  the  Boy,  discreetly. 

"How  long?"  groaned  Mac — "O  Lord,  how  long?"  But  it 
was  much  longer  than  he  realised.  The  Boy  saw  the  visitors 
shifting  from  one  knee  to  another,  and  feared  the  worst.  But  he 
sympathised  deeply  with  their  predicament.  To  ease  his  own 
legs,  he  changed  his  position,  and  dragged  a  corner  of  the  sail 
cloth  down  off  the  little  pile  of  provisions,  and  doubled  it  under 
his  knees. 

The  movement  revealed  the  bag  of  dried  apples  within  arm's 
length.  Nicholas  was  surreptitiously  reaching  for  his  coat.  No 
doubt  about  it,  he  had  come  to  the  conclusion  that  this  was  the 
fitting  moment  to  depart.  A  look  over  his  shoulder  showed  Mac 
absorbed,  and  taking  fresh  breath  at  "Sixthly,  O  Lord."  The 
Boy  put  out  a  hand,  and  dragged  the  apple-bag  slowly,  softly 
towards  him.  The  Prince  dropped  the  sleeve  of  his  coat,  and 
fixed  his  one  eye  on  his  friend.  The  Boy  undid  the  neck  of  the 
sack,  thrust  in  his  hand,  and  brought  out  a  fist  full.  Another 
look  at  Mac — still  hard  at  it,  trying  to  spare  O'Flynn's  feelings 
without  mincing  matters  with  the  Almighty. 

The  Boy  winked  at  Nicholas,  made  a  gesture,  "Catch!"  and 
fired  a  bit  of  dried  apple  at  him,  at  the  same  time  putting  a  piece 
in  his  own  mouth  to  show  him  it  was  all  right. 

Nicholas  followed  suit,  and  seemed  pleased  with  the  result. 
He  showed  all  his  strong,  white  teeth,  and  ecstatically  winked 
his  one  eye  back  at  the  Boy,  who  threw  him  another  bit  and  then 
a  piece  to  each  of  the  others. 

The  Colonel  had  "caught  on,"  and  was  making  horrible 
frowns  at  the  Boy.  Potts  and  O'Flynn  looked  up,  and  in  dumb- 
show  demanded  a  share.  No  ?  Very  well,  they'd  tell  Mac.  So 
the  Boy  had  to  feed  them,  too,  to  keep  them  quiet. 

And  still  Mac  prayed  the  Lord  to  catch  up  this  slip  he  had 
made  here  on  the  Yukon  with  reference  to  the  natives.  In  the 
midst  of  a  powerful  peroration,  he  happened  to  open  his  eyes  a 
little,  and  they  fell  on  the  magnificent  great  sable  collar  of 
Prince  Nicholas's  coat. 

Without  any  of  the  usual  slowing  down,  without  the  accus 
tomed  warning  of  a  gradual  descent  from  the  high  themes  of 
heaven  to  the  things  of  common  earth,  Mac  came  down  out  of 

20 


WINTER   CAMP   ON   THE  YUKON 

the  clouds  with  a  bump,  and  the  sudden,  business-like  "Amen" 
startled  all  the  apple-chewing  congregation. 

Mac  stood  up,  and  says  he  to  Nicholas: 

"Where  did  you  get  that  coat?" 

Nicholas,  still  on  his  knees,  stared,  and  seemed  in  doubt  if 
this  were  a  part  of  the  service. 

"Where  did  you  get  that  coat?"  repeated  Mac. 

The  Boy  had  jumped  up  nimbly.  "I  told  you  his  father  has  a 
lot  of  furs." 

"Like  this?" 

"No,"  says  Nicholas ;  "this  belong  white  man." 

"Ha,"  says  Mac  excitedly,  "I  thought  I'd  seen  it  before.  Tell 
us  how  you  got  it." 

"Me  leave  St.  Michael;  me  got  ducks,  reindeer  meat — oh, 
plenty  kow-kow!*  Two  sleeps  away  St.  Michael  me  meet  In 
dian.  Heap  hungry.  Him  got  bully  coat."  Nicholas  picked  it 
up  off  the  floor.  "Him  got  no  kow-kow.  Him  say,  'Give  me 
duck,  give  me  back-fat.  You  take  coat,  him  too  heavy.'  Me 
say,  'Yes.'  " 

"But  how  did  he  get  the  coat?" 

"Him  say  two  white  men  came  down  river  on  big  ice." 

"Yes,  yes " 

"Men  sick."  He  tapped  his  forehead.  "Man  no  sick,  he  no 
go  down  with  the  ice";  and  Nicholas  shuddered.  "Before 
Ikogimeut,  ice  jam.  Indian  see  men  jump  one  big  ice  here,  more 
big  ice  here,  and  one  ...  go  down.  Indian" — Nicholas  imi 
tated  throwing  out  a  line — "man  tie  mahout  round — but — big 

ice  come "  Nicholas  dashed  his  hands  together,  and  then 

paused  significantly.  "Indian  sleep  there.  Next  day  ice  hard. 
Indian  go  little  way  out  to  see.  Man  dead.  Him  heap  good 
coat,"  he  wound  up  unemotionally,  and  proceeded  to  put  it  on. 

"And  the  other  white  man — what  became  of  him?" 

Nicholas  shrugged :  "Kaiomi,"  though  it  was  plain  he  knew 
well  enough  the  other  lay  under  the  Yukon  ice. 

"And  that  — that  was  the  end  of  the  fellows  who  went  by 
jeering  at  us!" 

"We'd  better  not  crow  yet,"  said  Mac.  And  they  bade 
Princ  Nicholas  and  his  heathen  retinue  good-bye  in  a  mood 
chastened  not  by  prayer  alone. 

*Food. 


21 


CHAPTER  II 

HOUSE-WARMING 

"There  is  a  sort  of  moral  climate  in  a  household." — JOHN  MORLEY. 

NO  idle  ceremony  this,  but  the  great  problem  of  the  dwell 
ers  in  the  country  of  the  Yukon. 
The  Colonel  and  the  Boy  made  up  their  minds  that, 
whatever  else  they  had  or  had  not,  they  would  have  a  warm 
house  to  live  in.    And  when  they  had  got  it,  they  would  have  a 
"Blow-out"  to  celebrate  the  achievement. 

"We'll  invite  Nicholas,"  says  the  Boy.  "I'll  go  to  Pymeut 
myself,  and  let  him  know  we  are  going  to  have  'big  fire,  big 
feed.  Oh,  heap  big  time!"1 

If  the  truth  were  told,  it  had  been  a  difficult  enough  matter 
to  keep  away  from  Pymeut  since  the  hour  Nicholas  had  vanished 
in  that  direction ;  but  until  winter  quarters  were  made,  and  until 
they  were  proved  to  be  warm,  there  was  no  time  for  the  ameni 
ties  of  life. 

The  Big  Cabin  (as  it  was  quite  seriously  called,  in  contradis 
tinction  to  the  hut  of  the  Trio)  consisted  of  a  single  room,  meas 
uring  on  the  outside  sixteen  feet  by  eighteen  feet. 

The  walls  of  cotton-wood  logs  soared  upward  to  a  level  of  six 
feet,  and  this  height  was  magnificently  increased  in  the  middle 
by  the  angle  of  the  mildly  gable  roof.  But  before  the  cabin  was 
breast-high  the  Boy  had  begun  to  long  for  a  window. 

"Sorry  we  forgot  the  plate-glass,"  says  Mac. 

"Wudn't  ye  like  a  grrand-piana?"  asks  O'Flynn. 

"What's  the  use  of  goin'  all  the  way  from  Nova  Scotia  to 
Caribou,"  says  the  Boy  to  the  Schoolmaster-Miner,  "if  you 
haven't  learned  the  way  to  make  a  window  like  the  Indians,  out 
of  transparent  skin?" 

Mac  assumed  an  air  of  elevated  contempt. 

"I  went  to  mine,  not  to  learn  Indian  tricks." 

"When  the  door's  shut  it'll  be  dark  as  the  inside  of  a  cocoa- 
nut." 

22 


HOUSE-WARMING 

"You  ought  to  have  thought  of  that  before  you  left  the  sunny 
South,"  said  Potts. 

"It'll  be  dark  all  winter,  window  or  no  window,"  Mac  re 
minded  them. 

"Never  mind,"  said  the  Colonel,  "when  the  candles  give  out 
we'll  have  the  fire-light.  Keep  all  the  spruce  knots,  boys!" 

But  one  of  the  boys  was  not  pleased.  The  next  day,  looking 
for  a  monkey-wrench  under  the  tarpaulin,  he  came  across  the 
wooden  box  a  California  friend  had  given  him  at  parting,  con 
taining  a  dozen  tall  glass  jars  of  preserved  fruit.  The  others 
had  growled  at  the  extra  bulk  and  weight,  when  the  Boy  put 
the  box  into  the  boat  at  St.  Michael's,  but  they  had  now  begun 
to  look  kindly  on  it  and  ask  when  it  was  to  be  opened.  He  had 
answered  firmly: 

"Not  before  Christmas,"  modifying  this  since  Nicholas's  visit 
to  "Not  before  the  House- Warming."  But  one  morning  the 
Boy  was  found  pouring  the  fruit  out  of  the  jars  into  some  empty 
cans. 

"What  you  up  to?" 

"Wait  an'  see."  He  went  to  D'Flynn,  who  was  dish-washer 
that  week,  got  him  to  melt  a  couple  of  buckets  of  snow  over  the 
open-air  camp-fire  and  wash  the  fruit-jars  clean. 

"Now,  Colonel,"  says  the  Boy,  "bring  along  that  buck-saw  o* 
yours  and  lend  a  hand." 

They  took  off  the  top  log  from  the  south  wall  of  the  cabin, 
measured  a  two-foot  space  in  the  middle,  and  the  Colonel  sawed 
out  the  superfluous  spruce  intervening.  While  he  went  on  doing 
the  same  for  the  other  logs  on  that  side,  the  Boy  roughly  chis 
elled  a  moderately  flat  sill.  Then  one  after  another  he  set  up 
six  of  the  tall  glass  jars  in  a  row,  and  showed  how,  alternating 
with  the  other  six  bottles  turned  upside  down,  the  thick  belly  of 
one  accommodating  itself  to  the  thin  neck  of  the  other,  the 
twelve  made  a  very  decent  rectangle  of  glass.  When  they  had 
hoisted  up,  and  fixed  in  place,  the  logs  on  each  side,  and  the  big 
fellow  that  went  all  across  on  top ;  when  they  had  filled  the  in 
considerable  cracks  between  the  bottles  with  some  of  the  mud- 
mortar  with  which  the  logs  were  to  be  chinked,  behold  a  double 
glass  window  fit  for  a  king! 

The  Boy  was  immensely  pleased. 

"Oh,  that's  an  old  dodge,"  said  Mac  depreciatingly.  "Why, 
they  did  that  at  Caribou !" 

23 


THE   MAGNETIC   NORTH 

"Then,  why  in Why  didn't  you  suggest  it?" 

"You  wait  till  you  know  more  about  this  kind  o'  life,  and  you 
won't  go  in  for  fancy  touches." 

Nevertheless,  the  man  who  had  mined  at  Caribou  seemed  to 
feel  that  some  contribution  from  him  was  necessary  to  offset  the 
huge  success  of  that  window.  He  did  not  feel  called  upon  to 
help  to  split  logs  for  the  roof  of  the  Big  Cabin,  but  he  sat  cut 
ting  and  whittling  away  at  a  little  shelf  which  he  said  was  to  be 
nailed  up  at  the  right  of  the  Big  Cabin  door.  Its  use  was  not 
apparent,  but  no  one  dared  call  it  a  "fancy  touch,"  for  Mac  was 
a  miner,  and  had  been  to  Caribou. 

When  the  shelf  was  nailed  up,  its  maker  brought  forth  out  of 
his  medicine-chest  a  bottle  of  Perry  Davis's  Pain-killer. 

"Now  at  Caribou,"  says  he,  "they  haven't  got  any  more  ther 
mometers  kicking  round  than  we  have  here,  but  they  discovered 
that  when  Perry  Davis  congeals  you  must  keep  a  sharp  look-out 
for  frost-bite,  and  when  Perry  Davis  freezes  solid,  you'd  better 
mind  your  eye  and  stay  in  your  cabin,  if  you  don't  want  to  die 
on  the  trail."  With  which  he  tied  a  string  round  Perry  Davis's 
neck,  set  the  bottle  up  on  the  shelf,  and  secured  it  firmly  in  place. 
They  all  agreed  it  was  a  grand  advantage  to  have  been  to  Cari 
bou! 

But  Mac  knew  things  that  he  had  probably  not  learned  there, 
about  trees,  and  rocks,  and  beasts,  and  their  manners  and  cus 
toms  and  family  names.  If  there  were  more  than  a  half-truth 
in  the  significant  lament  of  a  very  different  man,  "I  should  be  a 
poet  if  only  I  knew  the  names  of  things,"  then,  indeed,  Samuel 
MacCann  was  equipped  to  make  a  mark  in  literature. 

From  the  time  he  set  foot  on  the  volcanic  shore  of  St. 
Michael's  Island,  Mac  had  begun  his  "collection." 

Nowadays,  when  he  would  spend  over  "that  truck  of  his" 
hours  that  might  profitably  (considering  his  talents)  be  employed 
in  helping  to  fortify  the  camp  against  the  Arctic  winter,  his 
companions  felt  it  little  use  to  remonstrate. 

By  themselves  they  got  on  rapidly  with  work  on  the  roof,  very 
much  helped  by  three  days'  unexpectedly  mild  weather.  When 
the  split  logs  had  been  marshalled  together  on  each  side  of  the 
comb,  they  covered  them  with  dried  moss  and  spruce  boughs. 
Over  all  they  laid  a  thick  blanket  of  the  earth  which  had  been 
dug  out  to  make  a  level  foundation.  The  cracks  in  the  walls 
were  chinked  with  moss  and  mud-mortar.  The  floor  was  the 
naked  ground,  "to  be  carpeted  with  skins  by-and-by,"  so  Mac 

24 


HOUSE-WARMING 

said;  but  nobody  believed  Mac  would  put  a  skin  to  any  such 
sensible  use. 

The  unreasonable  mildness  of  three  or  four  days  and  the  little 
surface  thaw,  came  to  an  abrupt  end  in  a  cold  rain  that  turned  to 
sleet  as  it  fell.  Nobody  felt  like  going  far  afield  just  then,  even 
after  game,  but  they  had  set  the  snare  that  Nicholas  told  the  Boy 
about  on  that  first  encounter  in  the  wood.  Nicholas,  it  seemed, 
had  given  him  a  noose  made  of  twisted  sinew,  and  showed  how  it 
worked  in  a  running  loop.  He  had  illustrated  the  virtue  of  this 
noose  when  attached  to  a  pole  balanced  in  the  crotch  of  a  tree, 
caught  over  a  horizontal  stick  by  means  of  a  small  wooden  pin 
tied  to  the  snare.  A  touch  at  the  light  end  of  the  suspended 
pole  (where  the  baited  loop  dangles)  loosens  the  pin,  and  the 
heavy  end  of  the  pole  falls,  hanging  ptarmigan  or  partridge  in 
the  air. 

For  some  time  after  rigging  this  contrivance,  whenever  any 
one  reported  "tracks,"  Mac  and  the  Boy  would  hasten  to  the 
scene  of  action,  and  set  a  new  snare,  piling  brush  on  each  side 
of  the  track  that  the  game  had  run  in,  so  barring  other  ways,  and 
presenting  a  line  of  least  resistance  straight  through  the  loop. 

In  the  early  days  Mac  would  come  away  from  these  prepara 
tions  saying  with  dry  pleasure : 

"Now,  with  luck,  we  may  get  a  Xema  Sabinii"  or  some  such 
fearful  wild-fowl. 

"Good  to  eat?"  the  Boy  would  ask,  having  had  his  disappoint 
ments  ere  now  in  moments  of  hunger  for  fresh  meat,  when  Mac, 
with  the  nearest  approach  to  enthusiasm  he  permitted  himself, 
had  brought  in  some  miserable  little  hawk-owl  or  a  three-toed 
woodpecker  to  add,  not  to  the  larder,  but  to  the  "collection." 

"No,  you  don't  eat  Sabine  gulls,"  Mac  would  answer  pity 
ingly. 

But  those  snares  never  seemed  to  know  what  they  were  there 
for.  The  first  one  was  set  expressly  to  catch  one  of  the  com 
monest  birds  that  fly — Mac's  Lagopus  albus,  the  beautiful  white 
Arctic  grouse,  or  at  the  very  least  a  Bonasa  umbellus,  which, 
being  interpreted,  is  ruffed  ptarmigan.  The  tracks  had  been 
bird  tracks,  but  the  creature  that  swung  in  the  air  next  day  was 
a  baby  hare.  The  Schoolmaster  looked  upon  the  incident  as 
being  in  the  nature  of  a  practical  joke,  and  resented  it.  But 
the  others  were  enchanted,  and  professed  thereafter  a  rooted 
suspicion  of  the  soundness  of  the  Schoolmaster's  Natural  His 
tory,  which  nobody  actually  felt.  For  he  had  never  yet  pre- 
25 


THE   MAGNETIC    NORTH 

tended  to  know  anything  that  he  didn't  know  well;  and  when 
Potts  would  say  something  disparaging  of  Mac's  learning  behind 
his  back  (which  was  against  the  unwritten  rules  of  the  game) 
the  Colonel  invariably  sat  on  Potts. 

"Knows  a  darned  sight  too  much?  No,  he  don't  ^  sir;  that's 
just  the  remarkable  thing  about  Mac.  He  isn't  trying  to  carry 
any  more  than  he  can  swing." 

At  the  same  time  it  is  to  be  feared  that  none  of  his  compan 
ions  really  appreciated  the  pedagogue's  learning.  Nor  had  any 
one  but  the  Boy  sympathised  with  his  resolution  to  make  a  Col 
lection.  What  they  wanted  was  eatable  game,  and  they  affected 
no  intelligent  interest  in  knowing  the  manners  and  customs  of 
the  particular  species  that  was  sending  up  appetising  odours 
from  the  pot. 

They  even  applauded  the  rudeness  of  the  Boy,  who  one  day 
responded  to  Mac's  gravely  jubilant  "Look  here!  I've  got  the 
Parus  Hudsonicus!" 

"Poor  old  man!    What  do  you  do  for  it?" 

And  when  anybody  after  that  was  indisposed,  they  said  he 
might  be  sickening  for  an  attack  of  Parus  Hudsonicus,  and  in 
that  case  it  was  a  bad  look-out. 

Well  for  Mac  that  he  wouldn't  have  cared  a  red  cent  to  im 
press  the  greatest  naturalist  alive,  let  alone  a  lot  of  fellows  who 
didn't  know  a  titmouse  from  a  disease. 

Meanwhile  work  on  the  Big  Cabin  had  gone  steadily  forward. 
From  the  outside  it  looked  finished  now,  and  distinctly  imposing. 
From  what  were  left  of  the  precious  planks  out  of  the  bottom  of 
the  best  boat  they  had  made  the  door — two  by  four,  and  opening 
directly  in  front  of  that  masterpiece,  the  rock  fireplace.  The 
great  stone  chimney  was  the  pride  of  the  camp  and  the  talk 
before  the  winter  was  done  of  all  "the  Lower  River." 

Spurred  on  partly  by  the  increased  intensity  of  the  cold,  partly 
by  the  Colonel's  nonsense  about  the  way  they  did  it  "down 
South,"  Mac  roused  himself,  and  turned  out  a  better  piece  of 
masonry  for  the  Big  Cabin  than  he  had  thought  necessary  for  his 
own.  But  everybody  had  a  share  in  the  glory  of  that  fireplace. 
The  Colonel,  Potts,  and  the  Boy  selected  the  stone,  and  brought 
it  on  a  rude  litter  out  of  a  natural  quarry  from  a  place  a  mile  or 
more  away  up  on  the  bare  mountain-side.  O'Flynn  mixed  and 
handed  up  the  mud-mortar,  while  Mac  put  in  some  brisk  work 
with  it  before  it  stiffened  in  the  increasing  cold. 

Everybody  was  looking  forward  to  getting  out  of  the  tent  and 

26 


HOUSE-WARMING 

into  the  warm  cabin,  and  the  building  of  the  fireplace  stirred 
enthusiasm.  It  was  two  and  a  half  feet  deep,  three  and  a  half 
feet  high,  and  four  feet  wide,  and  when  furnished  with  ten-inch 
back  logs,  packed  in  glowing  ashes  and  laid  one  above  another, 
with  a  roaring  good  blaze  in  front  of  birch  and  spruce,  that  fire 
would  take  a  lot  of  beating,  as  the  Boy  admitted,  "even  in  the 
fat-pine  Florida  country." 

But  no  fire  on  earth  could  prevent  the  cabin  from  being  swept 
through,  the  moment  the  door  was  opened,  by  a  fierce  and  icy 
air-current.  The  late  autumnal  gales  revealed  the  fact  that  the 
sole  means  of  ventilation  had  been  so  nicely  contrived  that  who 
ever  came  in  or  went  out  admitted  a  hurricane  of  draught  that 
nearly  knocked  him  down.  Potts  said  it  took  a  good  half-hour, 
after  anyone  had  opened  the  door,  to  heat  the  place  up  again. 

''What!  You  cold?"  inquired  the  usual  culprit.  The  Boy 
had  come  in  to  put  an  edge  on  his  chopper.  "It's  stopped  snowin', 
an'  you  better  come  along  with  me,  Potts.  Swing  an  axe  for  a 
couple  of  hours — that'll  warm  you." 

"I've  got  rheumatism  in  my  shoulder  to-day,"  says  Potts,  hug 
ging  the  huge  fire  closer. 

"And  you've  got  something  wrong  with  your  eyes,  eh,  Mac?" 

Potts  narrowed  his  and  widened  the  great  mouth ;  but  he  had 
turned  his  head  so  Mac  couldn't  see  him. 

The  Nova  Scotian  only  growled  and  refilled  his  pipe.  Up  in 
the  woods  the  Boy  repeated  the  conversation  to  the  Colonel,  who 
looked  across  at  O'Flynn  several  yards  away,  and  said :  "Hush !" 

"Why  must  I  shut  up?  Mac's  eyes  do  look  rather  queer  and 
bloodshot.  I  should  think  he'd  rather  feel  we  lay  it  to  his  eyes 
than  know  we're  afraid  he's  peterin'  out  altogether." 

"I  never  said  I  was  afraid " 

"No,  you  haven't  said  much." 

"I  haven't  opened  my  head  about  it." 

"No,  but  you've  tried  hard  enough  for  five  or  six  days  to  get 
Mac  to  the  point  where  he  would  come  out  and  show  us  how  to 
whip-saw.  You  haven't  said  anything,  but  you've — you've  got 
pretty  dignified  each  time  you  failed,  and  we  all  know  what  that 
means." 

"We  ought  to  have  begun  sawing  boards  for  our  bunks  and 
swing-shelf  a  week  back,  before  this  heavy  snowfall.  Besides, 
there's  enough  fire- wood  now;  we're  only  marking  time  un 
til " 

"Until  Mac's  eyes  get  all  right.    I  understand." 

27 


THE   MAGNETIC   NORTH 

Again  the  Colonel  had  made  a  sound  like  "Sh!"  and  went  on 
swinging  his  axe. 

They  worked  without  words  till  the  Boy's  tree  came  down. 
Then  he  stopped  a  moment,  and  wiped  his  face. 

"It  isn't  so  cold  to-day,  not  by  a  long  shot,  for  all  Potts's 
howling  about  his  rheumatics." 

"It  isn't  cold  that  starts  that  kind  of  pain." 

"No,  siree.  I'm  not  much  of  a  doctor,  but  I  can  see  Potts's 
rheumatism  doesn't  depend  on  the  weather." 

"Never  you  mind  Potts." 

"I  don't  mind  Potts.  I  only  mind  Mac.  What's  the  matter 
with  Mac,  anyway?" 

"Oh,  he's  just  got  cold  feet.  Maybe  he'll  thaw  out  by- 
and-by." 

"Did  you  ever  think  what  Mac's  like?  With  that  square-cut 
jaw  and  sawed-off  nose,  everything  about  him  goin'  like  this" — 
the  Boy  described  a  few  quick  blunt  angles  in  the  air — "well, 
sir,  he's  the  livin'  image  of  a  monkey-wrench.  I'm  comin'  to 
think  he's  as  much  like  it  inside  as  he  is  out.  He  can  screw  up 
for  a  prayer-meetin',  or  he  can  screw  down  for  business — when 
he's  a  mind,  but,  as  Jimmie  over  there  says,  'the  divil  a  differ 
ent  pace  can  you  put  him  through.'  I  like  monkey-wrenches! 
I'm  only  sayin'  they  aren't  as  limber  as  willa-trees." 

No  response  from  the  Colonel,  who  was  making  the  chips  fly. 
It  had  cost  his  great  body  a  good  many  aches  and  bruises,  but  he 
was  a  capital  axeman  now,  and  not  such  a  bad  carpenter,  though 
when  the  Boy  said  as  much  he  had  answered : 

"Carpenter!  I'm  just  a  sort  of  a  well-meanin'  wood-butcher" ; 
and  deeply  he  regretted  that  in  all  his  young  years  on  a  big  place 
in  the  country  he  had  learnt  so  little  about  anything  but  horses 
and  cattle. 

On  the  way  back  to  dinner  they  spoke  again  of  this  difficulty 
of  the  boards.  O'Flynn  whistled  "Rory  O'More"  with  his 
pleasant  air  of  detachment. 

"You  and  the  others  would  take  more  interest  in  the  subject," 
said  the  Boy  a  little  hotly,  "if  we  hadn't  let  you  fellows  use 
nearly  all  the  boat-planks  for  your  bunks,  and  now  we  haven't 
got  any  for  our  own." 

"Let  us  use  'em !    Faith !  we  had  a  right  to  'm." 

"To  boards  out  of  our  boat!" 

"And  ye  can  have  the  loan  o'  the  whip-saw  to  make  more, 
whenever  the  fancy  takes  ye." 

28 


HOUSE-WARMING 

"Loan  o'  the  whip-saw !    Why,  it's  mine,"  says  the  Colonel. 

"Divil  a  bit  of  it,  man!"  says  O'Flynn  serenely.  "Everything 
we've  got  belongs  to  all  of  us,  except  a  sack  o'  coffee,  a  medi 
cine-chest,  and  a  dimmi-john.  And  it's  mesilf  that's  afraid  the 
dimmi-john " 

"What's  the  use  of  my  having  bought  a  whip-saw?"  inter 
rupted  the  Colonel,  hurriedly.  "What's  the  good  of  it,  if  the 
only  man  that  knows  how  to  use  it " 

"Is  more  taken  up  wid  bein'  a  guardjin  angel  to  his  pardner's 
dimmi-john " 

The  Colonel  turned  and  frowned  at  the  proprietor  of  the 
dimmi-john.  The  Boy  had  dropped  behind  to  look  at  some 
marten  tracks  in  the  fresh-fallen  snow. 

"I'll  follow  that  trail  after  dinner,"  says  he,  catching  up  the 
others  in  time  to  hear  O'Flynn  say: 

"If  it  wusn't  that  ye  think  only  a  feller  that's  been  to  Caribou 
can  teach  ye  annything  it's  Jimmie  O'Flynn  that  'ud  show  ye 
how  to  play  a  chune  on  that  same  whip-saw." 

"Will  you  show  us  after  dinner?" 

"Sure  I  will." 

And  he  was  as  good  as  his  word. 

This  business  of  turning  a  tree  into  boards  without  the  aid  of 
a  saw-mill  is  a  thing  many  placer-miners  have  to  learn ;  for, 
even  if  they  are  disposed  to  sleep  on  the  floor,  and  to  do  without 
shelves,  they  can't  do  sluicing  without  sluice-boxes,  and  they 
can't  make  those  long,  narrow  boxes  without  boards. 

So  every  party  that  is  well  fitted  out  has  a  whip-saw. 

"Furrst  ye  dig  a  pit,"  O'Flynn  had  said  airily,  stretched  out 
before  the  fire  after  dinner.  "Make  it  about  four  feet  deep,  and 
as  long  as  ye'd  like  yer  boards.  When  ye've  done  that  I'll  come 
and  take  a  hand." 

The  little  job  was  not  half  finished  when  the  light 
failed.  Two  days  more  of  soil-burning  and  shovelling  saw  it 
done. 

"Now  ye  sling  a  couple  o'  saplings  acrost  the  durrt  ye've 
chucked  out.  R-right!  Now  ye  roll  yer  saw-timber  inter  the 
middle.  R-right!  An'  on  each  side  ye  want  a  log  to  stand  on. 
See  ?  Wid  yer  'guide-man'  on  top  sthradlin'  yer  timberr,  watch- 
in'  the  chalk-line  and  doin'  the  pull-up,  and  the  otherr  fellerr  in 
the  pit  lookin'  afther  the  haul-down,  ye'll  be  able  to  play  a  chune 
wid  that  there  whip-saw  that'll  make  the  serryphims  sick  o'  plain 
harps."  O'Flynn  superintended  it  all,  and  even  Potts  had  the 

29 


THE  MAGNETIC   NORTH 

curiosity  to  come  out  and  see  what  they  were  up  to.  Mac  was 
"kind  o'  dozin'  "  by  the  fire. 

When  the  frame  was  finished  O'Flynn  helped  to  put  the  trial- 
log  in  place,  having  marked  it  off  with  charcoal  to  indicate  inch 
and  a  quarter  planks.  Then  the  Colonel,  down  in  the  pit,  and 
O'Flynn  on  top  of  the  frame,  took  the  great  two-handled  saw 
between  them,  and  began  laboriously,  one  drawing  the  big  blade 
up,  and  the  other  down,  vertically  through  the  log  along  the 
charcoal  line. 

"An'  that's  how  it's  done,  wid  bits  of  yer  arrums  and  yer  back 
that  have  niver  been  called  on  to  wurruk  befure.  An'  whin 
ye've  been  at  it  an  hour  ye'll  find  it  goes  betther  wid  a  little 
blasphemin' ;"  and  he  gave  his  end  of  the  saw  to  the  reluctant 
Potts. 

Potts  was  about  this  time  as  much  of  a  problem  to  his  pardners 
as  was  the  ex-schoolmaster.  If  the  bank  clerk  had  surprised 
them  all  by  his  handiness  on  board  ship,  and  by  making  a  crane 
to  swing  the  pots  over  the  fire,  he  surprised  them  all  still  more 
in  these  days  by  an  apparent  eclipse  of  his  talents.  It  was  unac 
countable.  Potts's  carpentering,  Potts's  all-round  cleverness, 
was,  like  "pay rock  in  a  pocket,"  as  the  miners  say,  speedily 
worked  out,  and  not  a  trace  of  it  afterwards  to  be  found. 

But  less  and  less  was  the  defection  of  the  Trio  felt.  The 
burly  Kentucky  stock-farmer  was  getting  his  hand  in  at  "fron 
tier"  work,  though  he  still  couldn't  get  on  without  his  "nigger," 
as  the  Boy  said,  slyly  indicating  that  it  was  he  who  occupied  this 
exalted  post.  These  two  soon  had  the  bunks  made  out  of  the 
rough  planks  they  had  sawed  with  all  a  green-horn's  pains. 
They  put  in  a  fragrant  mattress  of  spring  moss,  and  on  that 
made  up  a  bed  of  blankets  and  furs. 

More  boards  were  laboriously  turned  out  to  make  the  great 
swing-shelf  to  hang  up  high  in  the  angle  of  the  roof,  where 
the  provisions  might  be  stored  out  of  reach  of  possible  ma 
rauders. 

The  days  were  very  short  now,  bringing  only  about  five  hours 
of  pallid  light,  so  little  of  which  struggled  through  the  famous 
bottle-window  that  at  all  hours  they  depended  chiefly  on  the 
blaze  from  the  great  fireplace.  There  was  still  a  good  deal  of 
work  to  be  done  indoors,  shelves  to  be  put  up  on  the  left  as  you 
entered  (whereon  the  granite-ware  tea-service,  etc.,  was  kept),  a 
dinner-table  to  be  made,  and  three-legged  stools.  While  these 
additions — "fancy  touches,"  as  the  Trio  called  them — were 

30 


HOUSE-WARMING 

being  made,  Potts  and  O'Flynn,  although  occasionally  they  went 
out  for  an  hour  or  two,  shot-gun  on  shoulder,  seldom  brought 
home  anything,  and  for  the  most  part  were  content  with  doing 
what  they  modestly  considered  their  share  of  the  cooking  and 
washing.  For  the  rest,  they  sat  by  the  fire  playing  endless  games 
of  euchre,  seven-up  and  bean  poker,  while  Mac,  more  silent 
than  ever,  smoked  and  read  Copps's  "Mining  Laws"  and  the 
magazines  of  the  previous  August. 

Nobody  heard  much  in  those  days  of  Caribou.  The  Colonel 
had  gradually  slipped  into  the  position  of  Boss  of  the  camp.  The 
Trio  were  still  just  a  trifle  afraid  of  him,  and  he,  on  his  side, 
never  pressed  a  dangerous  issue  too  far. 

But  this  is  a  little  to  anticipate. 

One  bitter  gray  morning,  that  had  reduced  Perry  Davis  to  a 
solid  lump  of  ice,  O'Flynn,  the  Colonel,  and  the  Boy  were  bring 
ing  into  the  cabin  the  last  of  the  whip-sawed  boards.  The 
Colonel  halted  and  looked  steadily  up  the  river. 

"Is  that  a  beast  or  a  human?"  said  he. 

"It's  a  man,"  the  Boy  decided  after  a  moment — "no,  two  men, 
single  file,  and — yes — Colonel,  it's  dogs.  Hooray!  a  dog-team 
at  last!" 

They  had  simultaneously  dropped  the  lumber.  The  Boy  ran 
on  to  tell  the  cook  to  prepare  more  grub,  and  then  pelted  after 
O'Flynn  and  the  Colonel,  who  had  gone  down  to  meet  the  new 
comers — an  Indian  driving  five  dogs,  which  were  hitched  tandem 
to  a  low  Esquimaux  sled,  with  a  pack  and  two  pairs  of  web-foot 
snow-shoes  lashed  on  it,  and  followed  by  a  white  man.  The 
Indian  was  a  fine  fellow,  younger  than  Prince  Nicholas,  and 
better  off  in  the  matter  of  eyes.  The  white  man  was  a  good 
deal  older  than  either,  with  grizzled  hair,  a  worn  face,  bright 
dark  eyes,  and  a  pleasant  smile. 

"I  had  heard  some  white  men  had  camped  hereabouts,"  says 
he.  "I  am  glad  to  see  we  have  such  substantial  neighbours."  He 
was  looking  up  at  the  stone  chimney,  conspicuous  a  long  way  off. 

"We  didn't  know  we  had  any  white  neighbours,"  said  the 
Colonel  in  his  most  grand  and  gracious  manner.  "How  far 
away  are  you,  sir?" 

"About  forty  miles  above." 

As  he  answered  he  happened  to  be  glancing  at  the  Boy,  and 
observed  his  eagerness  cloud  slightly.  Hadn't  Nicholas  said  it 
was  "about  forty  miles  above"  that  the  missionaries  lived  ? 

"But  to  be  only  forty  miles  away,"  the  stranger  went  on, 


THE   MAGNETIC   NORTH 

misinterpreting  the  fading  gladness,  "is  to  be  near  neighbours  in 
this  country." 

"We  aren't  quite  fixed  yet,"  said  the  Colonel,  "but  you  must 
come  in  and  have  some  dinner  with  us.  We  can  promise  you  a 
good  fire,  anyhow." 

"Thank  you.  You  have  chosen  a  fine  site."  And  the  bright 
eyes  with  the  deep  crow's-feet  raying  out  from  the  corners 
scanned  the  country  in  so  keen  and  knowing  a  fashion  that  the 
Boy,  with  hope  reviving,  ventured: 

"Are — are  you  a  prospector?" 

"No.    I  am  Father  Wills  from  Holy  Cross." 

"Oh!"  And  the  Boy  presently  caught  up  with  the  Indian, 
and  walked  on  beside  him,  looking  back  every  now  and  then  to 
watch  the  dogs  or  examine  the  harness.  The  driver  spoke 
English,  and  answered  questions  with  a  tolerable  intelligence. 
"Are  dogs  often  driven  without  reins?" 

The  Indian  nodded. 

The  Colonel,  after  the  stranger  had  introduced  himself,  was 
just  a  shade  more  reserved,  but  seemed  determined  not  to  be 
lacking  in  hospitality.  O'Flynn  was  overflowing,  or  would  have 
been  had  the  Jesuit  encouraged  him.  He  told  their  story,  or, 
more  properly,  his  own,  and  how  they  had  been  wrecked. 

"And  so  ye're  the  Father  Superior  up  there?"  says  the  Irish 
man,  pausing  to  take  breath. 

"No.  Our  Superior  is  Father  Brachet.  That's  a  well-built 
cabin!" 

The  dogs  halted,  though  they  had  at  least  five  hundred  yards 
still  to  travel  before  they  would  reach  the  well-built  cabin. 

"Mush!"  shouted  the  Indian. 

The  dogs  cleared  the  ice-reef,  and  went  spinning  along  so 
briskly  over  the  low  hummocks  that  the  driver  had  to  run  to  '• 
keep  up  with  them. 

The  Boy  was  flying  after  when  the  priest,  having  caught  sight 
of  his  face,  called  out:  "Here!  Wait!  Stop  a  moment!"  and 
hurried  forward. 

He  kicked  through  the  ice-crust,  gathered  up  a  handful  of 
snow,  and  began  to  rub  it  on  the  Boy's  right  cheek. 

"What  in  the  name  of "     The  Boy  was  drawing  back 

angrily. 

"Keep  still,"  ordered  the  priest;  "your  cheek  is  frozen";  and 
he  applied  more  snow  and  more  friction.  "You  ought  to  watch 
one  another  in  such  weather  as  this.  When  a  man  turns  dead- 

32 


HOUSE-WARMING 

white  like  that,  he's  touched  with  frost-bite."  After  he  had 
restored  the  circulation:  "There  now,  don't  go  near  the  fire,  or 
it  will  begin  to  hurt." 

"Thank  you,"  said  the  Boy,  a  little  shame-faced.  "It's  all 
right  now,  I  suppose?" 

"I  think  so,"  said  the  priest.  "You'll  lose  the  skin,  and  you 
may  be  a  little  sore — nothing  to  speak  of,"  with  which  he  fell 
back  to  the  Colonel's  side. 

The  dogs  had  settled  down  into  a  jog-trot  now,  but  were  still 
well  on  in  front. 

"Is  'mush'  their  food?"  asked  the  Boy. 

"Mush?     No,  fish." 

"Why  does  your  Indian  go  on  like  that  about  mush,  then?" 

"Oh,  that's  the  only  word  the  dogs  know,  except — a — certain 
expressions  we  try  to  discourage  the  Indians  from  using.  In  the 
old  days  the  dog-drivers  used  to  say  'mahsh.'  Now  you  never 
hear  anything  but  swearing  and  'mush,'  a  corruption  of  the 
French-Canadian  marched  He  turned  to  the  Colonel :  "You'll 
get  over  trying  to  wear  cheechalko  boots  here — nothing  like 
mucklucks  with  a  wisp  of  straw  inside  for  this  country." 

"I  agree  wid  ye.  I  got  me  a  pair  in  St.  Michael's,"  says 
O'Flynn  proudly,  turning  out  his  enormous  feet.  "Never  wore 
anything  so  comf'table  in  me  life." 

"You  ought  to  have  drill  parkis  too,  like  this  of  mine,  to  keep 
out  the  wind." 

They  were  going  up  the  slope  now,  obliquely  to  the  cabin, 
close  behind  the  dogs,  who  were  pulling  spasmodically  between 
their  little  rests. 

Father  Wills  stooped  and  gathered  up  some  moss  that  the 
wind  had  swept  almost  bare  of  snow.  "You  see  that?"  he  said 
to  O'Flynn,  while  the  Boy  stopped,  and  the  Colonel  hurried  on. 
"Wherever  you  find  that  growing  no  man  need  starve." 

The  Colonel  looked  back  before  entering  the  cabin  and  saw 
that  the  Boy  seemed  to  have  forgotten  not  alone  the  Indian,  but 
the  dogs,  and  was  walking  behind  with  the  Jesuit,  face  upturned, 
smiling,  as  friendly  as  you  please. 

Within  a  different  picture. 

Potts  and  Mac  were  having  a  row  about  something,  and  the 
Colonel  struck  in  sharply  on  their  growling  comments  upon  each 
other's  character  and  probable  destination. 

"Got  plenty  to  eat?  Two  hungry  men  coming  in.  One's  an 
Indian,  and  you  know  what  that  means,  and  the  other's  a  Catho- 

33 


THE   MAGNETIC   NORTH 

lie  priest."  It  was  this  bomb  that  he  had  hurried  on  to  get 
exploded  and  done  with  before  the  said  priest  should  appear  on 
the  scene. 

"A  what?"  Mac  raised  his  heavy  eyes  with  fight  in  every 
wooden  feature. 

"A  Jesuit  priest  is  what  I  said." 

"He  won't  eat  his  dinner  here." 

"That  is  exactly  what  he  will  do." 

"Not  by "  Whether  it  was  the  monstrous  proposition  that 

had  unstrung  Mac,  he  was  obliged  to  steady  himself  against  the 
table  with  a  shaking  hand.  But  he  set  those  square  features  of 
his  like  iron,  and,  says  he,  "No  Jesuit  sits  down  to  the  same 
table  with  me." 

"That  means,  then,  that  you'll  eat  alone." 

"Not  if  I  know  it." 

The  Colonel  slid  in  place  the  heavy  wooden  bar  that  had 
never  before  been  requisitioned  to  secure  the  door,  and  he  came 
and  stood  in  the  middle  of  the  cabin,  where  he  could  let  out  all 
his  inches.  Just  clearing  the  swing-shelf,  he  pulled  his  great 
figure  up  to  its  full  height,  and  standing  there  like  a  second 
Goliath,  he  said  quite  softly  in  that  lingo  of  his  childhood  that 
always  came  back  to  his  tongue's  tip  in  times  of  excitement: 
"Just  as  shuah  as  yo'  bohn  that  priest  will  eat  his  dinner  to-day 
in  my  cabin,  sah ;  and  if  yo'  going  t'  make  any  trouble,  just  say 
so  now,  and  we'll  get  it  ovah,  and  the  place  cleaned  up  again 
befoh  our  visitors  arrive." 

"Mind  what  you're  about,  Mac,"  growled  Potts.  "You  know 
he  could  lick  the  stuffin'  out  o'  you." 

The  ex-schoolmaster  produced  some  sort  of  indignant  sound 
in  his  throat  and  turned,  as  if  he  meant  to  go  out.  The  Colonel 
came  a  little  nearer.  Mac  flung  up  his  head  and  squared  for 
battle. 

Potts,  in  a  cold  sweat,  dropped  a  lot  of  tinware  with  a  rattle, 
while  the  Colonel  said,  "No,  no.  We'll  settle  this  after  the 
people  go,  Mac."  Then  in  a  whisper:  "Look  here:  I've  been 
trying  to  shield  you  for  ten  days.  Don't  give  yourself  away 
now — before  the  first  white  neighbour  that  comes  to  see  us.  You 
call  yourself  a  Christian.  Just  see  if  you  can't  behave  like  one, 
for  an  hour  or  two,  to  a  fellow-creature  that's  cold  and  hungry. 
Come,  you're  the  man  we've  always  counted  on!  Do  the 
honours,  and  take  it  out  of  me  after  our  guests  are  gone." 

Mac  seemed  in  a  haze.  He  sat  down  heavily  on  some  bean- 

34 


HOUSE-WARMING 

bags  in  the  corner;  and  when  the  newcomers  were  brought  in 
and  introduced,  he  "did  the  honours"  by  glowering  at  them  with 
red  eyes,  never  breaking  his  surly  silence. 

"Well !"  says  Father  Wills,  looking  about,  "I  must  say  you're 
very  comfortable  here.  If  more  people  made  homes  like  this, 
there'd  be  fewer  failures."  They  gave  him  the  best  place  by  the 
fire,  and  Potts  dished  up  dinner.  There  were  only  two  stools 
made  yet.  The  Boy  rolled  his  section  of  sawed  spruce  over  near 
the  priest,  and  prepared  to  dine  at  his  side. 

"No,  no,"  said  Father  Wills  firmly.  "You  shall  sit  as  far 
away  from  this  splendid  blaze  as  you  can  get,  or  you  will  have 
trouble  with  that  cheek."  So  the  Boy  had  to  yield  his  place  to 
O'Flynn,  and  join  Mac  over  on  the  bean-bags. 

"Why  didn't  you  get  a  parki  when  you  were  at  St.  Michael's?" 
said  the  priest  as  this  change  was  being  effected. 

"We  had  just  as  much — more  than  we  could  carry.  Besides, 
I  thought  we  could  buy  furs  up  river;  anyway,  I'm  warm 
enough." 

"No  you  are  not,"  returned  the  priest  smiling.  "You  must 
get  a  parki  with  a  hood." 

"I've  got  an  Arctic  cap ;  it  rolls  down  over  my  ears  and  goes 
all  round  my  neck — just  leaves  a  little  place  in  front  for  my 
eyes." 

"Yes;  wear  that  if  you  go  on  the  trail;  but  the  good  of  the 
parki  hood  is,  that  it  is  trimmed  all  round  with  long  wolf-hair. 
You  see" — he  picked  his  parki  up  off  the  floor  and  showed  it  to 
the  company — "those  long  hairs  standing  out  all  round  the  face 
break  the  force  of  the  wind.  It  is  wonderful  how  the  Esqui 
maux  hood  lessens  the  chance  of  frost-bite." 

While  the  only  object  in  the  room  that  he  didn't  seem  to  see 
was  Mac,  he  was  most  taken  up  with  the  fireplace. 

The  Colonel  laid  great  stress  on  the  enormous  services  of  the 
delightful,  accomplished  master-mason  over  there  on  the  bean- 
bags,  who  sat  looking  more  than  ever  like  a  monkey-wrench 
incarnate. 

But  whether  that  Jesuit  was  as  wily  as  the  Calvinist  thought, 
he  had  quite  wit  enough  to  overlook  the  great  chimney-builder's 
wrathful  silence. 

He  was  not  the  least  "professional,"  talked  about  the  country 
and  how  to  live  here,  saying  incidentally  that  he  had  spent 
twelve  years  at  the  mission  of  the  Holy  Cross.  The  Yukon  wasn't 
a  bad  place  to  live  in,  he  told  them,  if  men  only  took  the  trouble 

35 


THE   MAGNETIC   NORTH 

to  learn  how  to  live  here.  While  teaching  the  Indians,  there 
was  a  great  deal  to  learn  from  them  as  well. 

"You  must  all  come  and  see  our  schools,"  he  wound  up. 

"We'd  like  to  awfully,"  said  the  Boy,  and  all  but  Mac  echoed 
him.  "We  were  so  afraid,"  he  went  on,  "that  we  mightn't  see 
anybody  all  winter  long." 

"Oh,  you'll  have  more  visitors  than  you  want." 

"Shall  we,  though?"  Then,  with  a  modified  rapture:  "In 
dians,  I  suppose,  and — and  missionaries." 

"Traders,  too,  and  miners,  and  this  year  cheechalkos  as  well. 
You  are  directly  on  the  great  highway  of  winter  travel.  Now 
that  there's  a  good  hard  crust  on  the  snow  you  will  have  dog- 
trains  passing  every  week,  and  sometimes  two  or  three." 

It  was  good  news! 

"We've  already  had  one  visitor  before  you,"  said  the  Boy, 
looking  wonderfully  pleased  at  the  prospect  the  priest  had 
opened  out.  "You  must  know  Nicholas  of  Pymeut,  don't 
you?" 

"Oh  yes;  we  all  know  Nicholas";  and  the  priest  smiled. 

"We  like  him,"  returned  the  Boy  as  if  some  slighting  criticism 
had  been  passed  upon  his  friend. 

"Of  course  you  do;  so  do  we  all";  and  still  that  look  of  quiet 
amusement  on  the  worn  face  and  a  keener  twinkle  glinting  in 
the  eyes. 

"We're  afraid  he's  sick,"  the  Boy  began. 

Before  the  priest  could  answer,  "He  was  educated  at  Howly 
Cross,  he  says''  contributed  O'Flynn. 

"Oh,  he's  been  to  Holy  Cross,  among  other  places." 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"Well,  Nicholas  is  a  most  impartial  person.  He  was  born  at 
Pymeut,  but  his  father,  who  is  the  richest  and  most  intelligent 
man  in  his  tribe,  took  Nicholas  to  Ikogimeut  when  the  boy  was 
only  six.  He  was  brought  up  in  the  Russian  mission  there,  as 
the  father  had  been  before  him,  and  was  a  Greek — in  religion — 
till  he  was  fourteen.  There  was  a  famine  that  year  down  yon 
der,  so  Nicholas  turned  Catholic  and  came  up  to  us.  He  was 
at  Holy  Cross  some  years,  when  business  called  him  to  Anvik, 
where  he  turned  Episcopalian.  At  Eagle  City,  I  believe,  he  is 
regarded  as  a  pattern  Presbyterian.  There  are  those  that  say, 
since  he  has  been  a  pilot,  Nicholas  makes  six  changes  a  trip  in 
his  religious  convictions."  • 

Father  Wills  saw  that  the  Colonel,  to  whom  he  most  fre- 

36 


HOUSE-WARMING 

quently  addressed  himself,  took  his  pleasantry  gravely.  "Nicho 
las  is  not  a  bad  fellow,"  he  added.  "He  told  me  you  had  been 
kind  to  him." 

"If  you  believe  that  about  his  insincerity,"  said  the  Colonel, 
"are  you  not  afraid  the  others  you  spend  your  life  teaching  may 
turn  out  as  little  credit  to  you — to  Christianity?" 

The  priest  glanced  at  the  listening  Indian.  "No,"  said  he 
gravely;  "I  do  not  think  all  the  natives  are  like  Nicholas.  An 
drew  here  is  a  true  son  of  the  Church.  But  even  if  it  were 
otherwise,  we,  you  know" — the  Jesuit  rose  from  the  table  with 
that  calm  smile  of  his — "we  simply  do  the  work  without  ques 
tion.  The  issue  is  not  in  our  hands."  He  made  the  sign  of  the 
cross  and  set  back  his  stool. 

"Come,  Andrew,"  he  said;  "we  must  push  on." 

The  Indian  repeated  the  priest's  action,  and  went  out  to  see 
to  the  dogs. 

"Oh,  are  you  going  right  away?"  said  the  Colonel  politely, 
and  O'Flynn  volubly  protested. 

"We  thought,"  said  the  Boy,  "you'd  sit  awhile  and  smoke  and 
— at  least,  of  course,  I  don't  mean  smoke  exactly — but " 

The  Father  smiled  and  shook  his  head. 

"Another  time  I  would  stay  gladly." 

"Where  are  you  going  now?" 

"Andrew  and  I  are  on  our  way  to  the  Oklahoma,  the  steam 
ship  frozen  in  the  ice  below  here." 

"How  far?"  asked  the  Boy. 

"About  seven  miles  below  the  Russian  mission,  and  a  mile  or 
so  up  the  Kuskoquim  Slough." 

"Wrecked  there?" 

"Oh  no.    Gone  into  winter  quarters." 

"In  a  slew?"  for  it  was  so  Father  Wills  pronounced  s-1-o-u-g-h. 

"Oh,  that's  what  they  call  a  blind  river  up  in  this  country. 
They  come  into  the  big  streams  every  here  and  there,  and 
cheechalkos  are  always  mistaking  them  for  the  main  channel. 
Sometimes  they're  wider  and  deeper  for  a  mile  or  so  than  the 
river  proper,  but  before  you  know  it  they  land  you  in  a  marsh. 
This  place  I'm  going  to,  a  little  way  up  the  Kuskoquim,  out  of 
danger  when  the  ice  breaks  up,  has  been  chosen  for  a  new  sta 
tion  by  the  N.  A.  T.  and  T.  Company — rival,  you  know,  to  the 
old-established  Alaska  Commercial,  that  inherited  the  Russian 
fur  monopoly  and  controlled  the  seal  and  salmon  trade  so  long. 
Well,  the  younger  company  runs  the  old  one  hard,  and  they've 

37 


THE   MAGNETIC   NORTH 

sent  this  steamer  into  winter  quarters  loaded  with  provisions, 
ready  to  start  for  Dawson  the  instant  the  ice  goes  out." 

"Why,  then,  it's  the  very  boat  that'll  be  takin'  us  to  the 
Klondyke." 

"You  just  goin'  down  to  have  a  look  at  her?"  asked  Potts 
enviously. 

"No.     I  go  to  get  relief  for  the  Pymeuts." 

"What's  the  matter  with  'em?" 

"Epidemic  all  summer,  starvation  now." 

"Guess  you  won't  find  anybody's  got  such  a  lot  he  wants  to 
give  it  away  to  the  Indians." 

"Our  Father  Superior  has  given  much,"  said  the  priest  gently ; 
"but  we  are  not  inexhaustible  at  Holy  Cross.  And  the  long 
winter  is  before  us.  Many  of  the  supply  steamers  have  failed  to 
get  in,  and  the  country  is  flooded  with  gold-seekers.  There'll  be 
wide-spread  want  this  year — terrible  suffering  all  up  and  down 
the  river." 

"The  more  reason  for  people  to  hold  on  to  what  they've  got. 
A  white  man's  worth  more  'n  an  Indian." 

The  priest's  face  showed  no  anger,  not  even  coldness. 

"White  men  have  got  a  great  deal  out  of  Alaska  and  as  yet 
done  little  but  harm  here.  The  government  ought  to  help  the 
natives,  and  we  believe  the  Government  will.  All  we  ask  of  the 
captain  of  the  Oklahoma  is  to  sell  us,  on  fair  terms,  a  certain 
supply,  we  assuming  part  of  the  risk,  and  both  of  us  looking  to 
the  Government  to  make  it  good." 

"Reckon  you'll  find  that  steamer-load  down  in  the  ice  is 
worth  its  weight  in  gold,"  said  Potts. 

"One  must  always  try,"  replied  the  Father. 

He  left  the  doorpost,  straightened  his  bowed  back,  and  laid  a 
hand  on  the  wooden  latch. 

"But  Nicholas — when  you  left  Pymeut  was  he "  began 

the  Boy. 

"Oh,  he  is  all  right,"  the  Father  smiled  and  nodded.  "Brother 
Paul  has  been  looking  after  Nicholas's  father.  The  old  chief 
has  enough  food,  but  he  has  been  very  ill.  By  the  way,  have 
you  any  letters  you  want  to  send  out  ?" 

"Oh,  if  we'd  only  known !"  was  the  general  chorus ;  and  Potts 
flew  to  close  and  stamp  one  he  had  hardly  more  than  begun  to 
the  future  Mrs.  Potts. 

The  Boy  had  thoughtlessly  opened  the  door  to  have  a  look  at 
the  dogs. 

38 


HOUSE-WARMING 

"Shut  that  da Don't  keep  the  door  open !"  howled  Potts, 

trying  to  hold  his  precious  letter  down  on  the  table  while  he 
added  "only  two  words."  The  Boy  slammed  the  door  behind 
him. 

"With  all  our  trouble,  the  cabin  isn't  really  warm,"  said  the 
Colonel  apologetically.  "In  a  wind  like  this,  if  the  door  is  open, 
we  have  to  hold  fast  to  things  to  keep  them  from  running  down 
the  Yukon.  It's  a  trial  to  anybody's  temper." 

"Why  don't  you  build  a  false  wall?" 

"Well,  I  don't  know;  we  hadn't  thought  of  it." 

"You'd  find  it  correct  this  draught" ;  and  the  priest  explained 
his  views  on  the  subject  while  Potts's  letter  was  being  addressed. 
Andrew  put  his  head  in. 

"Ready,  Father!" 

As  the  priest  was  pocketing  the  letter  the  Boy  dashed  in,  put 
on  the  Arctic  cap  he  set  such  store  by,  and  a  fur  coat  and  mit 
tens. 

"Do  you  mind  if  I  go  a  little  way  with  you?"  he  said. 

"Of  course  not,"  answered  the  priest.  "I  will  send  him 
back  in  half  an  hour,"  he  said  low  to  the  Colonel.  "It's  a 
bitter  day." 

It  was  curious  how  already  he  had  divined  the  relation  of  the 
elder  man  to  the  youngest  of  that  odd  household. 

The  moment  they  had  gone  Mac,  with  an  obvious  effort, 
pulled  himself  up  out  of  his  corner,  and,  coming  towards  the 
Colonel  at  the  fireplace,  he  said  thickly: 

"You've  put  an  insult  upon  me,  Warren,  and  that's  what  I 
stand  from  no  man.  Come  outside." 

The  Colonel  looked  at  him. 

"All  right,  Mac;  but  we've  just  eaten  a  rousing  big  dinner. 
Even  Sullivan  wouldn't  accept  that  as  the  moment  for  a  round. 
We'll  both  have  forty  winks,  hey?  and  Potts  shall  call  us,  and 
O'Flynn  shall  be  umpire.  You  can  have  the  Boy's  bunk." 

Mac  was  in  a  haze  again,  and  allowed  himself  to  be  insin 
uated  into  bed. 

The  others  got  rid  of  the  dinner  things,  and  "sat  round"  for 
an  hour. 

"Doubt  if  he  sleeps  long,"  says  Potts  a  little  before  two; 
"that's  what  he's  been  doing  all  morning." 

"We  haven't  had  any  fresh  meat  for  a  week,"  returns  the 
Colonel  significantly.  "Why  don't  you  and  O'Flynn  go  down 
to  meet  the  Boy,  and  come  round  by  the  woods  ?  There'll  be  full 

39 


THE   MAGNETIC   NORTH 

moon  up  by  four  o'clock ;  you  might  get  a  brace  of  grouse  or  a 
rabbit  or  two." 

O'Flynn  was  not  very  keen  about  it ;  but  the  Jesuit's  visit  had 
stirred  him  up,  and  he  offered  less  opposition  to  the  unusual  call 
to  activity  than  the  Colonel  expected. 

When  at  last  he  was  left  alone  with  the  sleeping  man,  the 
Kentuckian  put  on  a  couple  more  logs,  and  sat  down  to  wait.  At 
three  he  got  up,  swung  the  crane  round  so  that  the  darting 
tongues  of  flame  could  lick  the  hot-water  pot,  and  then  he  meas 
ured  out  some  coffee.  In  a  quarter  of  an  hour  the  cabin  was 
full  of  the  fragrance  of  good  Mocha. 

The  Colonel  sat  and  waited.  Presently  he  poured  out  a  little 
coffee,  and  drank  it  slowly,  blissfully,  with  half-closed  eyes. 
But  when  he  had  set  the  granite  cup  down  again,  he  stood  up 
alert,  like  a  man  ready  for  business.  Mac  had  been  asleep  nearly 
three  hours.  The  others  wouldn't  be  long  now. 

Well,  if  they  came  prematurely,  they  must  go  to  the  Little 
Cabin  for  awhile.  The  Colonel  shot  the  bar  across  door  and 
jamb  for  the  second  time  that  day.  Mac  stirred  and  lifted  him 
self  on  his  elbow,  but  he  wasn't  really  awake. 

"Potts,"  he  said  huskily. 

The  Colonel  made  no  sound. 

"Potts,  measure  me  out  two  fingers,  will  you?  Cabin's  damn 
cold." 

No  answer. 

Mac  roused  himself,  muttering  compliments  for  Potts.  When 
he  had  bundled  himself  out  over  the  side  of  the  bunk,  he  saw 
the  Colonel  seemingly  dozing  by  the  fire. 

He  waited  a  moment.  Then,  very  softly,  he  made  his  way  to 
the  farther  end  of  the  swing-shelf. 

The  Colonel  opened  one  eye,  shut  it,  and  shuffled  in  a  sleepy 
sort  of  way.  Mac  turned  sharply  back  to  the  fire. 

The  Colonel  opened  his  eyes  and  yawned. 

"I  made  some  cawfee  a  little  while  back.    Have  some?" 

"No." 

"Better ;it's  A  i." 

]  Where's  Potts  r 

"Gone  out  for  a  little.  Back  soon."  He  poured  out  some  of 
the  strong,  black  decoction,  and  presented  it  to  his  companion. 
"Just  try  it.  Finest  cawfee  in  the  world,  sir." 

Mac  poured  it  down  without  seeming  to  bother  about  tast 
ing  it. 

40 


HOUSE-WARMING 

They  sat  quite  still  after  that,  till  the  Colonel  said  medi 
tatively  : 

"You  and  I  had  a  little  account  to  settle,  didn't  we?" 

"I'm  ready." 

But  neither  moved  for  several  moments. 

"See  here,  Mac:  you  haven't  been  ill  or  anything  like  that, 
have  you?" 

"No."  There  was  no  uncertain  note  in  the  answer;  if  any 
thing,  there  was  in  it  more  than  the  usual  toneless  decision. 
Mac's  voice  was  machine-made — as  innocent  of  modulation  as  a 
buzz-saw,  and  with  the  same  uncompromising  finality  as  the 
shooting  of  a  bolt.  "I'm  ready  to  stand  up  against  any  man." 

"Good!"  interrupted  the  Colonel.  "Glad  o'  that,  for  I'm 
just  longing  to  see  you  stand  up " 

Mac  was  on  his  feet  in  a  flash. 

"You  had  only  to  say  so,  if  you  wanted  to  see  me  stand  up 
against  any  man  alive.  And  when  I  sit  down  again  it's  my  opin 
ion  one  of  us  two  won't  be  good-lookin'  any  more." 

He  pushed  back  the  stools. 

"I  thought  maybe  it  was  only  necessary  to  mention  it,"  said 
the  Colonel  slowly.  "I've  been  wanting  for  a  fortnight  to  see 
you  stand  up" — Mac  turned  fiercely — "against  Samuel  David 
MacCann." 

"Come  on!   I'm  in  no  mood  for  monkeyin'!" 

"Nor  I.  I  realise,  MacCann,  we've  come  to  a  kind  of  a 
crisis.  Things  in  this  camp  are  either  going  a  lot  better,  or  a 
lot  worse,  after  to-day." 

"There's  nothing  wrong,  if  you  quit  asking  dirty  Jesuits  to 
sit  down  with  honest  men." 

"Yes;  there's  something  worse  out  o'  shape  than  that." 

Mac  waited  warily. 

"When  we  were  stranded  here,  and  saw  what  we'd  let  our 
selves  in  for,  there  wasn't  one  of  us  that  didn't  think  things 
looked  pretty  much  like  the  last  o'  pea  time.  There  was  just  one 
circumstance  that  kept  us  from  throwing  up  the  sponge ;  we  had 
a  man  in  camp!* 

The  Colonel  paused. 

Mac  stood  as  expressionless  as  the  wooden  crane. 

"A  man  we  all  believed  in,  who  was  going  to  help  us  pull 
through." 

"That  was  you,  I  s'pose."  Mac's  hard  voice  chopped  out  the 
sarcasm. 

41 


THE   MAGNETIC   NORTH 

"You  know  mighty  well  who  ft  was.  The  Boy's  all  right, 
but  he's  young  for  this  kind  o'  thing — young  and  heady.  There 
isn't  much  wrong  with  me  that  I'm  aware  of,  except  that  I  don't 
know  shucks.  Potts's  petering  out  wasn't  altogether  a  surprise, 
and  nobody  expected  anything  from  O'Flynn  till  we  got  to  Daw- 
son,  when  a  lawyer  and  a  fella  with  capital  behind  him  may 
come  in  handy.  But  there  was  one  man — who  had  a  head  on 
him,  who  had  experience,  and  who" — he  leaned  over  to  empha 
sise  the  climax — "who  had  character.  It  was  on  that  man's 
account  that  I  joined  this  party." 

Mac  put  his  hands  in  his  pockets  and  leaned  against  the  wall. 
His  face  began  to  look  a  little  more  natural.  The  long  sleep  or 
the  coffee  had  cleared  his  eyes. 

"Shall  I  tell  you  what  I  heard  about  that  man  last  night?" 
asked  the  Colonel  gravely. 

Mac  looked  up,  but  never  opened  his  lips. 

"You  remember  you  wouldn't  sit  here " 

"The  Boy  was  always  in  and  out.    The  cabin  was  cold." 

"I  left  the  Boy  and  O'Flynn  at  supper-time  and  went  down 
to  the  Little  Cabin  to " 

"To  see  what  I  was  doin' — to  spy  on  me." 

"Well,  all  right — maybe  I  was  spying,  too.  Incidentally  I 
wanted  to  tell  you  the  cabin  was  hot  as  blazes,  and  get  you  to 
come  to  supper.  I  met  Potts  hurrying  up  for  his  grub,  and  I 
said,  Where's  Mac?  Isn't  he  coming?'  and  your  pardner's  an 
swer  was:  'Oh,  let  him  alone.  He's  got  a  flask  in  his  bunk, 
swillin'  and  gruntin';  he's  just  in  hog-heaven.'  " 

"Damn  that  sneak!" 

"The  man  he  was  talkin'  about,  Mac,  was  the  man  we  had 
all  built  our  hopes  on." 

'Til  teach  Potts " 

"You  can't,  Mac.  Potts  has  got  to  die  and  go  to  heaven — 
perhaps  to  hell,  before  he'll  learn  any  good.  But  you're  a  dif 
ferent  breed.  Teach  MacCann." 

Mac  suddenly  sat  down  on  the  stool  with  his  head  in  his 
hands. 

"The  Boy  hasn't  caught  on,"  said  the  Colonel  presently,  "but 
he  said  something  this  morning  to  show  he  was  wondering  about 
the  change  that's  come  over  you." 

"That  I  don't  split  wood  all  day,  I  suppose,  when  we've  got 
enough  for  a  month.  Potts  doesn't  either.  Why  don't  you  go 
for  Potts?" 

42 


HOUSE-WARMING 

"As  the  Boy  said,  I  don't  care  about  Potts.  It's  Mac  that 
matters." 

"Did  the  Boy  say  that?"     He  looked  up. 

The  Colonel  nodded. 

"After  you  had  made  that  chimney,  you  know,  you  were  a 
kind  of  hero  in  his  eyes." 

Mac  looked  away. 

"The  cabin's  been  cold,"  he  muttered. 

"We  are  going  to  remedy  that." 

"I  didn't  bring  any  liquor  into  camp.  You  must  admit  that  I 
didn't  intend " 

"I  do  admit  it." 

"And  when  O'Flynn  said  that  about  keeping  his  big  demi 
john  out  of  the  inventory  and  apart  from  the  common  stores,  I 
sat  on  him." 

''So  you  did." 

"I  knew  it  was  safest  to  act  on  the  'medicinal  purposes'  prin 
ciple." 

"So  it  is." 

"But  I  wasn't  thinking  so  much  of  O'Flynn.  I  was  thinking 
of  ...  things  that  had  happened  before  .  .  .  for  .  .  .I'd  had 
experience.  Drink  was  the  curse  of  Caribou.  It's  something  of 
a  scourge  up  in  Nova  Scotia  ...  I'd  had  experience." 

"You  did  the  very  best  thing  possible  under  the  circum 
stances."  Mac  was  feeling  about  after  his  self-respect,  and 
must  be  helped  to  get  hold  of  it.  "I  realise,  too,  that  the  temp 
tation  is  much  greater  in  cold  countries,"  said  the  Kentuckian 
unblushingly.  "Italians  and  Greeks  don't  want  fiery  drinks  half 
as  much  as  Russians  and  Scandinavians — haven't  the  same  crav 
ing  as  Nova  Scotians  and  cold-country  people  generally,  I  sup 
pose.  But  that  only  shows,  temperance  is  of  more  vital  im 
portance  in  the  North." 

"That's  right!  It's  not  much  in  my  line  to  shift  blame,  even 
when  I  don't  deserve  it;  but  you  know  so  much  you  might  as 
well  know  ...  it  wasn't  I  who  opened  that  demijohn  first." 

"But  you  don't  mind  being  the  one  to  shut  it  up — do  you?" 

"Shut  it  up?" 

"Yes ;  let's  get  it  down  and "  The  Colonel  swung  it  off 

the  shelf.  It  was  nearly  empty,  and  only  the  Boy's  and  the 
Colonel's  single  bottles  stood  unbroached.  Even  so,  Mac's  pro 
longed  spree  was  something  of  a  mystery  to  the  Kentuckian.  It 
must  be  that  a  very  little  was  too  much  for  Mac.  The  Colonel 

43 


THE   MAGNETIC   NORTH 

handed  the  demijohn  to  his  companion,  and  lit  the  solitary 
candle  standing  on  its  little  block  of  wood,  held  in  place  between 
three  half-driven  nails. 

"What's  that  for?" 

"Don't  you  want  to  seal  it  up?" 

"I  haven't  got  any  wax." 

"I  have  an  inch  or  so."  The  Colonel  produced  out  of  his 
pocket  the  only  piece  in  camp. 

Mac  picked  up  a  billet  of  wood,  and  drove  the  cork  in  flush 
with  the  neck.  Then,  placing  upright  on  the  cork  the  helve  of 
the  hammer,  he  drove  the  cork  down  a  quarter  of  an  inch 
farther. 

"Give  me  your  wax.  What's  for  a  seal?"  They  looked 
about.  Mac's  eye  fell  on  a  metal  button  that  hung  by  a  thread 
from  the  old  militia  jacket  he  was  wearing.  He  put  his  hand  up 
to  it,  paused,  glanced  hurriedly  at  the  Colonel,  and  let  his 
fingers  fall. 

"Yes,  yes,"  said  the  Kentuckian,  "that'll  make  a  capital  seal." 

"No;  something  of  yours,  I  think,  Colonel.  The  top  of  that 
tony  pencil-case,  hey?" 

The  Colonel  produced  his  gold  pencil,  watched  Mac  heat  the 
wax,  drop  it  into  the  neck  of  the  demipohn,  and  apply  the 
initialled  end  of  the  Colonel's  property.  While  Mac,  without 
any  further  waste  of  words,  was  swinging  the  wicker-bound 
temptation  up  on  the  shelf  again,  they  heard  voices. 

"They're  coming  back,"  says  the  Kentuckian  hurriedly.  "But 
we've  settled  our  little  account,  haven't  we,  old  man?" 

Mac  jerked  his  head  in  that  automatic  fashion  that  with  him 
meant  genial  and  whole-hearted  agreement. 

"And  if  Potts  or  O'Flynn  want  to  break  that  seal " 

"I'll  call  'em  down,"  says  Mac.   And  the  Colonel  knew  the  \ 
seal  was  safe. 

***** 

"By-the-by,  Colonel,"  said  the  Boy,  just  as  he  was  turning  in 
that  night,  "I — a — I've  asked  that  Jesuit  chap  to  the  House- 
Warming.' 

"Oh,  you  did,  did  you?" 

"Yes." 

"Well,  you'd  just  better  have  a  talk  with  Mac  about  it." 

"Yes.  I've  been  tryin'  to  think  how  I'd  square  Mac.  Of 
course,  I  know  I'll  have  to  go  easy  on  the  raw." 

"I  reckon  you  just  will." 

44 


HOUSE-WARMING 

"If  Monkey-wrench  screws  down  hard  on  me,  you'll  come  to 
the  rescue,  wont  you,  Colonel?" 

"No;  I'll  side  with  Mac  on  that  subject.    Whatever  he  says, 


goes!" 


"Humph!  that  Jesuit's  all  right." 
Not  a  word  out  of  the  Colonel. 


45 


CHAPTER  III 

TWO  NEW  SPISSIMENS 

(311  Sula).     (Sag'  mal—  toer  Mft  bu?    3d)  fenne  bidlj 
nici&t. 

2  u  ?  a  .    tenft  bu  benn  fonft  atfe  £eute  ? 

2Jlebtojeben>.     SK  tneinem  SRebier  mujj  idlj  jeben  Jennen—  unb  bid) 
fenn'  idj  nidfjt.  .  .  . 

2  ufa.    2)a§  !ommt  tootyl  bafyer  Dttfeldjen,  bafj  bein  9tebier  nic^t  bie 
@rbe  umfafft  .  .  .  '3  ift  ba  nodfj  ein  ©nbcfjen  brau^en  geblieben.  .  .  . 


ONE  of  the  curious  results  of  what  is  called  wild  life, 
is   a  blessed   release   from   many   of   the  timidities   that 
assail  the  easy  liver  in  the  centres  of  civilisation.     Potts 
was  the  only  one  in  the  white  camp  who  had  doubts  about  the 
wisdom  of  having  to  do  with  the  natives. 

However,  the  agreeable  necessity  of  going  to  Pymeut  to  invite 
Nicholas  to  the  Blow-out  was  not  forced  upon  the  Boy.  They 
were  still  hard  at  it,  four  days  after  the  Jesuit  had  gone  his 
way,  surrounding  the  Big  Cabin  with  a  false  wall,  that  final 
and  effectual  barrier  against  Boreas  —  finishing  touch  warranted 
to  convert  a  cabin,  so  cold  that  it  drove  its  inmates  to  drink,  into 
a  dwelling  where  practical  people,  without  cracking  a  dreary 
joke,  might  fitly  celebrate  a  House-  Warming. 

In  spite  of  the  shortness  of  the  days,  Father  Wills's  suggestion 
was  being  carried  out  with  a  gratifying  success.  Already  mani 
fest  were  the  advantages  of  the  stockade,  running  at  a  foot's 
distance  round  the  cabin  to  the  height  of  the  eaves,  made  of 
spruce  saplings  not  even  lopped  of  their  short  bushy  branches, 
but  planted  close  together,  after  burning  the  ground  cleared  of 
snow.  A  second  visitation  of  mild  weather,  and  a  further  two 
days'  thaw,  made  the  Colonel  determine  to  fill  in  the  space 
between  the  spruce  stockade  and  the  cabin  with  "burnt-out"  soil 
closely  packed  down  and  well  tramped  in.  It  was  generally 

46 


TWO    NEW   SPISSIMENS 

conceded,  as  the  winter  wore  on,  that  to  this  contrivance  of  the 
"earthwork"  belonged  a  good  half  of  the  credit  of  the  Big  Cabin, 
and  its  renown  as  being  the  warmest  spot  on  the  lower  river  that 
terrible  memorable  year  of  the  Klondyke  Rush. 

The  evergreen  wall  with  the  big  stone  chimney  shouldering 
itself  up  to  look  out  upon  the  frozen  highway,  became  a  con 
spicuous  feature  in  the  landscape,  welcome  as  the  weeks  went 
on  to  many  an  eye  wearied  with  long  looking  for  shelter,  and 
blinded  by  the  snow-whitened  waste. 

An  exception  to  what  became  a  rule  was,  of  all  men,  Nicholas. 
When  the  stockade  was  half  done,  the  Prince  and  an  equerry 
appeared  on  the  horizon,  with  the  second  team  the  camp  had 
seen,  the  driver  much  concerned  to  steer  clear  of  the  softened 
snow  and  keep  to  that  part  of  the  river  ice  windswept  and  firm, 
if  roughest  of  all.  Nicholas  regarded  the  stockade  with  a  cold 
and  beady  eye. 

No,  he  hadn't  time  to  look  at  it.  He  had  promised  to  "mush." 
He  wasn't  even  hungry. 

It  did  little  credit  to  his  heart,  but  he  seemed  more  in  haste 
to  leave  his  new  friends  than  the  least  friendly  of  them  would 
have  expected. 

"Oh,  wait  a  sec.,"  urged  the  deeply  disappointed  Boy.  "I 
wanted  awf'ly  to  see  how  your  sled  is  made.  It's  better  'n 
Father  Wills'." 

"Humph!"  grunted  Nicholas  scornfully;  "him  no  got  Innuit 
sled." 

"Mac  and  I  are  goin'  to  try  soon's  the  stockade's  done " 

"Goo'-bye,"  interrupted  Nicholas. 

But  the  Boy  paid  no  attention  to  the  word  of  farewell.  He 
knelt  down  in  the  snow  and  examined  the  sled  carefully. 

"Spruce  runners,"  he  called  out  to  Mac,  "and — jee!  they're 
shod  with  ivory!  Jee!  fastened  with  sinew  and  wooden  pegs. 
Hey?" — looking  up  incredulously  at  Nicholas — "not  a  nail  in 
the  whole  shebang,  eh?" 

"Nail?"  says  Nicholas.  "Huh,  no  nail!"  as  contemptuously 
as  Chough  the  Boy  had  said  "bread-crumbs." 

"Well,  she's  a  daisy!     When  you  comin'  back?" 

"Comin'  pretty  quick;  goin'  pretty  quick.  Goo'-bye!  Mush!" 
shouted  Nicholas  to  his  companion,  and  the  dogs  got  up  off 
their  haunches. 

But  the  Boy  only  laughed  at  Nicholas's  struggles  to  get 
started.  He  hung  on  to  the  loaded  sled,  examining,  praising, 

47 


THE   MAGNETIC   NORTH 

while  the  dogs,  after  the  merest  affectation  of  trying  to  make  a 
start,  looked  round  at  him  over  their  loose  collars  and  grinned 
contentedly. 

"Me  got  to  mush.     Show  nex'  time.     Mush!" 

"What's  here?"  the  Boy  shouted  through  the  "mushing"; 
and  he  tugged  at  the  goodly  load,  so  neatly  disposed  under  an  old 
reindeer-skin  sleeping-bag,  and  lashed  down  with  raw  hide. 

That?    Oh,  that  was  fish. 

"Fish!  Got  so  much  fish  at  starving  Pymeut  you  can  go 
hauling  it  down  river?  Well,  sir,  we  want  fish.  We  must  have 
fish.  Hey?"  The  Boy  appealed  to  the  others. 

"Yes." 

"R-righty'arre!" 

"I  reckon  we  just  do!" 

But  Nicholas  had  other  views. 

"No,  me  take  him "  He  hitched  his  body  in  the  direction 

of  Ikogimeut. 

"Bless  my  soul !  you've  got  enough  there  for  a  regiment.  You 
goin'  to  sell  him?  Hey?" 

Nicholas  shook  his  head. 

"Oh,  come  off  the  roof !"  advised  the  Boy  genially. 

"You  ain't  carryin'  it  about  for  your  health,  I  suppose?"  said 
Potts. 

"The  people  down  at  Ikogimeut  don't  need  it  like  us.  We're 
white  duffers,  and  can't  get  fish  through  the  ice.  You  sell  some 
of  it  to  us."  But  Nicholas  shook  his  head  and  shuffled  along  on 
his  snow-shoes,  beckoning  the  dog-driver  to  follow. 

"Or  trade  some  fur — fur  tay,"  suggested  O'Flynn. 

"Or  for  sugar,"  said  Mac. 

"Or  for  tobacco,"  tempted  the  Colonel. 

And  before  that  last  word  Nicholas's  resolve  went  down.  Up 
at  the  cabin  he  unlashed  the  load,  and  it  quickly  became  mani 
fest  that  Nicholas  was  a  dandy  at  driving  a  bargain.  He  kept 
on  saying  shamelessly : 

"More — more  shuhg.  Hey?  Oh  yes,  me  give  heap  fish.  No 
nuff  shuhg." 

If  it  hadn't  been  for  Mac  (his  own  clear-headed  self  again, 
and  by  no  means  to  be  humbugged  by  any  Prince  alive)  the 
purchase  of  a  portion  of  that  load  of  frozen  fish,  corded  up  like 
so  much  wood,  would  have  laid  waste  the  commissariat. 

But  if  the  white  men  after  this  passage  did  not  feel  an  abso- 


TWO   NEW   SPISSIMENS 

lute  confidence  in  Nicholas's  fairness  of  mind,  no  such  unworthy 
suspicion  of  them  found  lodgment  in  the  bosom  of  the  Prince. 
With  the  exception  of  some  tobacco,  he  left  all  his  ill-gotten  store 
to  be  kept  for  him  by  his  new  friends  till  he  should  return. 
When  was  that  to  be?  In  five  sleeps  he  would  be  back. 

"Good!  We'll  have  the  stockade  done  by  then.  What  do 
you  say  to  our  big  chimney,  Nicholas?" 

He  emitted  a  scornful  "Peeluck!" 

"What!    Our  chimney  no  good?" 

He  shrugged :  "Why  you  have  so  tall  hole  your  house  ?  How 
you  cover  him  up?" 

"We  don't  want  to  cover  him  up." 

"Humph!  winter  fin'  you  tall  hole.  Winter  come  down — 
bring  in  snow — drive  fire  out."  He  shivered  in  anticipation  of 
what  was  to  happen.  "Peeluck!" 

The  white  men  laughed. 

"What  you  up  to  now?    Where  you  going?" 

Well,  the  fact  was,  Nicholas  had  been  sent  by  his  great  ally, 
the  Father  Superior  of  Holy  Cross,  on  a  mission,  very  important, 
demanding  despatch. 

"Father  Brachet — him  know  him  heap  better  send  Nicholas 
when  him  want  man  go  God-damn  quick.  Me  no  stop — no — no 
stop." 

He  drew  on  his  mittens  proudly,  unjarred  by  remembrance 
of  how  his  good  resolution  had  come  to  grief. 

"Where  you  off  to  now?" 

"Me  ketchum  Father  Wills — me  give  letter."  He  tapped  his 
deerskin-covered  chest.  "Ketchum  sure  'fore  him  leave  Ikogi- 
meut." 

"You  come  back  with  Father  Wills?" 

Nicholas  nodded. 

"Hooray!  we'll  all  work  like  sixty!"  shouted  the  Boy,  "and 
by  Saturday  (that's  five  sleeps)  we'll  have  the  wall  done  and 
the  house  warm,  and  you  and" — he  caught  himself  up ;  not  thus 
in  public  would  he  break  the  news  to  Mac — "you'll  be  back  in 
time  for  the  big  Blow-Out."  To  clinch  matters,  he  accompanied 
Nicholas  from  the  cabin  to  the  river  trail,  explaining:  "You 
savvy?  Big  feast — all  same  Indian.  Heap  good  grub.  No 
prayer-meetin' — you  savvy? — no  church  this  time.  Big  fire,  big 
feed.  All  kinds — apples,  shuhg,  bacon — no  cook  him,  you  no 
like,"  he  added,  basely  truckling  to  the  Prince's  peculiar  taste. 

49 


THE   MAGNETIC   NORTH 

Nicholas   rolled   his  single  eye  in   joyful   anticipation,   and 

promised  faithfully  to  grace  the  scene. 

***** 

This  was  all  very  fine  .  .  .  but  Father  Wills!  The  last 
thing  at  night  and  the  first  thing  in  the  morning  the  Boy  looked 
the  problem  in  the  face,  and  devised  now  this,  now  that,  adroit 
and  disarming  fashion  of  breaking  the  news  to  Mac. 

But  it  was  only  when  the  daring  giver  of  invitations  was  safely 
in  bed,  and  Mac  equally  safe  down  in  the  Little  Cabin,  that  it 
seemed  possible  to  broach  the  subject.  He  devised  scenes  in 
which,  airily  and  triumphantly,  he  introduced  Father  Wills,  and 
brought  Mac  to  the  point  of  pining  for  Jesuit  society ;  but  these 
scenes  were  actable  only  under  conditions  of  darkness  and  of 
solitude.  The  Colonel  refused  to  have  anything  to  do  with  the 
matter. 

"Our  first  business,  as  I  see  it,  is  to  keep  peace  in  the  camp, 
and  hold  fast  to  a  good  understanding  with  one  another.  It's 
just  over  little  things  like  this  that  trouble  begins.  Mac's  one 
of  us;  Father  Wills  is  an  outsider.  I  won't  rile  Mac  for  the 
sake  of  any  Jesuit  alive.  No,  sir;  this  is  your  funeral,  and  you're 
obliged  to  attend." 

Before  three  of  Nicholas's  five  sleeps  were  accomplished,  the 
Boy  began  to  curse  the  hour  he  had  laid  eyes  on  Father  Wills. 
He  began  even  to  speculate  desperately  on  the  good  priest's 
chances  of  tumbling  into  an  air-hole,  or  being  devoured  by  a 
timely  wolf.  But  no,  life  was  never  so  considerate  as  that.  Yet 
he  could  neither  face  being  the  cause  of  the  first  serious  row  in 
camp,  nor  endure  the  thought  of  having  his  particular  guest — 
drat  him! — flouted,  and  the  whole  House- Warming  turned  to 
failure  and  humiliation. 

Indeed,  the  case  looked  desperate.  Only  one  day  more  now 
before  he  would  appear — be  flouted,  insulted,  and  go  off 
wounded,  angry,  leaving  the  Boy  with  an  irreconciliable  quarrel 
against  Mac,  and  the  House- Warming  turned  to  chill  recrim 
ination  and  to  wretchedness. 

But  until  the  last  phantasmal  hope  went  down  before  the 
logic  of  events  it  was  impossible  not  to  cling  to  the  idea  of  melt 
ing  Mac's  Arctic  heart.  There  was  still  one  course  untried. 

Since  there  was  so  little  left  to  do  to  the  stockade,  the  Boy 
announced  that  he  thought  he'd  go  up  over  the  hill  for  a  tramp. 
Gun  in  hand  and  grub  in  pocket,  he  marched  off  to  play  his  last 
trump-card.  If  he  could  bring  home  a  queer  enough  bird  or 

50 


TWO    NEW   SPISSIMENS 

beast  for  the  collection,  there  was  still  hope.  To  what  lengths 
might  Mac  not  go  if  one  dangled  before  him  the  priceless  bait 
of  a  golden-tipped  emperor  goose,  dressed  in  imperial  robes  of 
rose-flecked  snow?  Or  who,  knowing  Mac,  would  not  trust  a 
Xema  Sabinii  to  play  the  part  of  a  white-winged  angel  of  peace  ? 
Failing  some  such  heavenly  messenger,  there  was  nothing  for  it 
but  that  the  Boy  should  face  the  ignominy  of  going  forth  to 
meet  the  Father  on  the  morrow,  and  confess  the  humiliating 
truth.  It  wasn't  fair  to  let  him  come  expecting  hospitality,  and 

find Visions  arose  of  Mac  receiving  the  bent  and  wayworn 

missionary  with  the  greeting:  "There  is  no  corner  by  the  fire, 
no  place  in  the  camp  for  a  pander  to  the  Scarlet  Woman."  The 
thought  lent  impassioned  fervour  to  the  quest  for  goose  or  gull. 

It  was  pretty  late  when  he  got  back  to  camp,  and  the  men 
were  at  supper.  No,  he  hadn't  shot  anything. 

"What's  that  bulging  in  your  pocket?" 

"Sort  o'  stone." 

"Struck  it  rich?" 

"Don't  give  me  any  chin-music,  boys;  give  me  tea.  I'm  dog- 
tired." 

But  when  Mac  got  up  first,  as  usual,  to  go  down  to  the  Little 
Cabin  to  "wood  up"  for  the  night,  "I'll  walk  down  with  you," 
says  the  Boy,  though  it  was  plain  he  was  dead-beat. 

He  helped  to  revive  the  failing  fire,  and  then,  dropping  on  the 
section  of  sawed  wood  that  did  duty  for  a  chair,  with  some  diffi 
culty  and  a  deal  of  tugging  he  pulled  "the  sort  o'  stone"  out  of 
the  pocket  of  his  duck  shooting-jacket. 

"See  that?"  He  held  the  thing  tightly  clasped  in  his  two  red, 
chapped  hands. 

Mac  bent  down,  shading  his  eyes  from  the  faint  flame 
flicker. 

"What  is  it?" 

"Piece  o'  tooth." 

"By  the  Lord  Harry!  so  it  is."  He  took  the  thing  nearer  the 
faint  light.  "Fossil!  Where'd  you  get  it?" 

"Over  yonder — by  a  little  frozen  river." 

"How  far?    Anymore?    Only  this?" 

The  Boy  didn't  answer.  He  went  outside,  and  returned  in 
stantly,  lugging  in  something  brown  and  whitish,  weather- 
stained,  unwieldy. 

"I  dropped  this  at  the  door  as  I  came  along  home.  Thought 
it  might  do  for  the  collection." 


THE   MAGNETIC   NORTH 

Mac  stared  with  all  his  eyes,  and  hurriedly  lit  a  candle.  The 
Boy  dropped  exhausted  on  a  ragged  bit  of  burlap  by  the  bunks. 
Mac  knelt  down  opposite,  pouring  liberal  libation  of  candle- 
grease  on  the  uncouth,  bony  mass  between  them. 

'Tart  of  the  skull!"  he  rasped  out,  masking  his  ecstasy  as  well 
as  he  could. 

"Mastodon?"  inquired  the  Boy. 

Mac  shook  his  head. 

"I'll  bet  my  boots,"  says  Mac,  "it's  an  Elephas  pnmigenius  ; 
and  if  I'm  right,  it's  'a  find,'  young  man.  Where'd  you  stumble 
on  him?" 

"Over  yonder."  The  Boy  leaned  his  head  against  the  lower 
bunk. 

"Where?" 

"Across  the  divide.  The  bones  have  been  dragged  up  on  to 
some  rocks.  I  saw  the  end  of  a  tusk  stickin'  up  out  of  the  snow, 

and  I   scratched  down   till   I   found "     He  indicated  the 

trophy  between  them  on  the  floor. 

"Tusk?     How  long?" 

"'Bout  nine  feet." 

"We'll  go  and  get  it  to-morrow." 

No  answer  from  the  Boy. 

"Early,  hey?" 

"Well — a — it's  a  good  ways." 

"What  if  it  is?" 

"Oh,  I  don't  mind.    I'd  do  more  'a  that  for  you,  Mac." 

There  was  something  unnatural  in  such  devotion.  Mac  looked 
up.  But  the  Boy  was  too  tired  to  play  the  big  fish  any  longer. 
"I  wonder  if  you'll  do  something  for  me."  He  watched  with  a 
sinking  heart  Mac's  sharp  uprising  from  the  worshipful  attitude. 
It  was  not  like  any  other  mortal's  gradual,  many-jointed  getting- 
up ;  it  was  more  like  the  sudden  springing  out  of  the  big  blade  of 
a  clasp-knife. 

"What's  your  game?" 

"Oh,  I  ain't  got  any  game,"  said  the  Boy  desperately ;  "or,  if 
I  have,  there's  mighty  little  fun  in  it.  However,  I  don't  know  as 
I  want  to  walk  ten  hours  again  in  this  kind  o'  weather  with  an 
elephant  on  my  back  just  for — for  the  poetry  o'  the  thing."  He 
laid  his  chapped  hands  on  the  side  board  of  the  bunk  and  pulled 
himself  up  on  his  legs. 

"What's  your  game?"  repeated  Mac  sternly,  as  the  Boy 
reached  the  door. 

52 


TWO    NEW   SPISSIMENS 

"What's  the  good  o'  talkin'?"  he  answered;  but  he  paused, 
turned,  and  leaned  heavily  against  the  rude  lintel. 

"Course,  I  know  you'd  be  shot  before  you'd  do  it,  but  what 
I'd  like,  would  be  to  hear  you  say  you  wouldn't  kick  up  a  hell 
of  a  row  if  Father  Wills  happens  in  to  the  House- Warmin'." 

Mac  jerked  his  set  face,  fire-reddened,  towards  the  fossil- 
finder;  and  he,  without  waiting  for  more,  simply  opened  the 

door,  and  heavily  footed  it  back  to  the  Big  Cabin. 

***** 

Next  morning  when  Mac  came  to  breakfast  he  heard  that 
the  Boy  had  had  his  grub  half  an  hour  before  the  usual  time,  and 
was  gone  off  on  some  tramp  again.  Mac  sat  and  mused. 

O'Flynn  came  in  with  a  dripping  bucket,  and  sat  down  to 
breakfast  shivering. 

"Which  way 'd  he  go?" 

"The  Boy?    Down  river." 

"Sure  he  didn't  go  over  the  divide?" 

O'Flynn  was  sure.  He'd  just  been  down  to  the  water-hole, 
and  in  the  faint  light  he'd  seen  the  Boy  far  down  on  the  river- 
trail  "leppin'  like  a  hare  in  the  direction  of  the  Roosian  mission." 

"Coin'  to  meet  ...  a  ...  Nicholas?" 

"Reckon  so,"  said  the  Colonel,  a  bit  ruffled.  "Don't  believe 
he'll  run  like  a  hare  very  far  with  his  feet  all  blistered." 

"Did  you  know  he'd  discovered  a  fossil  elephant?" 

"No." 

"Well,  he  has.    I  must  light  out,  too,  and  have  a  look  at  it." 

"Do ;  it'll  be  a  cheerful  sort  of  House- Warming  with  one  of 
you  off  scouring  the  country  for  more  blisters  and  chilblains,  and 
another  huntin'  antediluvian  elephants."  The  Colonel  spoke 
with  uncommon  irascibility.  The  great  feast-day  had  certainly 
not  dawned  propitiously. 

When  breakfast  was  done  Mac  left  the  Big  Cabin  without  a 
word;  but,  instead  of  going  over  the  divide  across  the  treeless 
snow-waste  to  the  little  frozen  river,  where,  turned  up  to  the 
pale  northern  dawn,  were  lying  the  bones  of  a  beast  that  had 
trampled  tropic  forests,  in  that  other  dawn  of  the  Prime,  the 
naturalist,  turning  his  back  on  Elephas  primigenius,  followed  in 

the  track  of  the  Boy  down  the  great  river  towards  Ikogimeut. 
***** 

On  the  low  left  bank  of  the  Yukon  a  little  camp.  On  one 
side,  a  big  rock  hooded  with  snow.  At  right  angles,  drawn  up 
one  on  top  of  the  other,  two  sleds  covered  with  reindeer-skins 

53 


THE    MAGNETIC    NORTH 

held  down  by  stones.  In  the  corner  formed  by  the  angle  of  rocks 
and  sleds,  a  small  A-tent,  very  stained  and  old.  Burning  before 
it  on  a  hearth  of  greenwood,  a  little  fire  struggling  with  a  veer 
ing  wind. 

Mac  had  seen  from  far  off  the  faint  blue  banners  of  smoke 
blowing  now  right,  now  left,  then  tossed  aloft  in  the  pallid  sun 
shine.  He  looked  about  sharply  for  the  Boy,  as  he  had  been 
doing  this  two  hours.  There  was  the  Jesuit  bending  over  the 
fire,  bettering  the  precarious  position  of  a  saucepan  that  insisted 
on  sitting  lop-sided,  looking  down  into  the  heart  of  coals.  Nicho 
las  was  holding  up  the  tent-flap. 

"Hello !  How  do !"  he  sang  out,  recognising  Mac.  The  priest 
glanced  up  and  nodded  pleasantly.  Two  Indians,  squatting  on 
the  other  side  of  the  fire,  scrambled  away  as  the  shifting  wind 
brought  a  cloud  of  stifling  smoke  into  their  faces. 

"Where's  the  Boy?"  demanded  Mac,  arresting  the  stampede. 

Nicholas's  dog-driver  stared,  winked,  and  wiped  his  weeping, 
smoke-reddened  eyes. 

"Is  he  in  there?"    Mac  looked  towards  the  tent. 

Andrew  nodded  between  coughs. 

"What's  he  doing  in  there?    Call  him  out,"  ordered  Mac. 

"He  no  walk." 

Mac's  hard  face  took  on  a  look  of  cast-iron  tragedy. 

The  wind,  veering  round  again,  had  brought  the  last  words  to 
the  priest  on  the  other  side  of  the  fire. 

"Oh,  it'll  be  all  right  by-and-by,"  he  said  cheerfully. 

"But  knocking  up  like  that  just  for  blisters?" 

"Blisters?  No;  cold  and  general  weakness.  That's  why  we 
delayed " 

Without  waiting  to  hear  more  Mac  strode  over  to  the  tent, 
and  as  he  went  in,  Nicholas  came  out.  No  sign  of  the  Boy — no 
body,  nothing.  What?  Down  in  the  corner  a  small,  yellow 
face  lying  in  a  nest  of  fur.  Bright,  dark  eyes  stared  roundly,  and 
as  Mac  glowered  astonished  at  the  apparition,  a  mouth  full  of 
gleaming  teeth  opened,  smiling,  to  say  in  a  very  small  voice: 

"Farva!" 

Astonished  as  Mac  was,  disappointed  and  relieved  all  at  once, 
there  was  something  arresting  in  the  appeal. 

"I'm  not  your  father,"  he  said  stiffly.  "Who're  you?  Hey? 
You  speak  English?" 

The  child  stared  at  him  fixedly,  but  suddenly,  for  no  reason 
on  earth,  it  smiled  again.  Mac  stood  looking  down  at  it, 

54 


TWO   NEW   SPISSIMENS 

seeming  lost  in  thought.  Presently  the  small  object  stirred, 
struggled  about  feebly  under  the  encompassing  furs,  and,  freeing 
itself,  held  out  its  arms.  The  mites  of  hands  fluttered  at  his 
sleeve  and  made  ineffectual  clutches. 

"What  do  you  want?"  To  his  own  vast  astonishment  Mac 
lifted  the  little  thing  out  of  its  warm  nest.  It  was  woefully 
thin,  and  seemed,  even  to  his  inexperience,  to  be  insufficiently 
clothed,  though  the  beaded  moccasins  on  its  tiny  feet  were  new 
and  good. 

"Why,  you're  only  about  as  big  as  a  minute,"  he  said  gruffly. 
"What's  the  matter — sick?"  It  suddenly  struck  him  as  very 
extraordinary  that  he  should  have  taken  up  the  child,  and  how 
extremely  embarrassing  it  would  be  if  anyone  came  in  and  caught 
him.  Clutching  the  small  morsel  awkwardly,  he  fumbled  with 
the  furs  preparatory  to  getting  rid,  without  delay,  of  the  unusual 
burden.  While  he  was  straightening  the  things,  Father  Wills 
appeared  at  the  flap,  smoking  saucepan  in  hand.  The  instant 
the  cold  air  struck  the  child  it  began  to  cough. 

"Oh,  you  mustn't  do  that!"  said  the  priest  to  Mac  with  un 
expected  severity.  "Kaviak  must  lie  in  bed  and  keep  warm." 
Down  on  the  floor  went  the  saucepan.  The  child  was  caught 
away  from  the  surprised  Mac,  and  the  furs  so  closely  gathered 
round  the  small  shrunken  body  that  there  was  once  more  nothing 
visible  but  the  wistful  yello\  face  and  gleaming  eyes,  still  turned 
searchingly  on  its  most  recent  acquaintance. 

But  the  priest,  without  so  much  as  a  glance  at  the  newcomer, 
proceeded  to  feed  Kaviak  out  of  the  saucepan,  blowing  vigor 
ously  at  each  spoonful  before  administering. 

"He's  pretty  hungry,"  commented  Mac.  "Where'd  you  find 
him?" 

"In  a  little  village  up  on  the  Kuskoquim.  Kaviak's  an  Esqui 
maux  from  Norton  Sound,  aren't  you,  Kaviak?"  But  the  child 
was  wholly  absorbed,  it  seemed,  in  swallowing  and  staring  at 
Mac.  "His  family  came  up  there  from  the  coast  in  a  bidarra 
only  last  summer — all  dead  now.  Everybody  else  in  the  village 
— and  there  isn't  but  a  handful — all  ailing  and  all  hungry.  I 
was  tramping  across  an  igloo  there  a  couple  of  days  ago,  and  I 
heard  a  strange  little  muffled  sound,  more  like  a  snared  rabbit 
than  anything  else.  But  the  Indian  with  me  said  no,  everybody 
who  had  lived  there  was  dead,  and  he  was  for  hurrying  on. 
They're  superstitious,  you  know,  about  a  place  where  people 
have  died.  But  I  crawled  in,  and  found  this  little  thing  lying  in 

55 


THE   MAGNETIC   NORTH 

a  bundle  of  rags  with  its  hands  bound  and  dried  grass  stuffed 
in  its  mouth.  It  was  too  weak  to  stir  or  do  more  than  occa 
sionally  to  make  that  muffled  noise  that  I'd  heard  coming  up 
through  the  smoke-hole." 

"What  you  goin'  to  do  with  him?" 

"Well,  I  hardly  know.  The  Sisters  will  look  after  him  for 
a  while,  if  I  get  him  there  alive." 

"Why  shouldn't  you?" 

Kaviak  supplied  the  answer  straightway  by  choking  and  falling 
into  an  appalling  fit  of  coughing. 

"I've  got  some  stuff  that'll  be  good  for  that,"  said  Mac,  think 
ing  of  his  medicine-chest.  "I'll  give  you  some  when  we  get  back 
to  camp." 

The  priest  nodded,  taking  Mac's  unheard  of  civility  as  a  mat 
ter  of  course. 

"The  ice  is  very  rough;  the  jolting  makes  him  cough  aw 
fully." 

The  Jesuit  had  fastened  his  eyes  on  Mac's  woollen  muffler, 
which  had  been  loosened  during  the  ministering  to  Kaviak  and 
had  dropped  on  the  ground.  "Do  you  need  that  scarf?"  he  asked, 
as  though  he  suspected  Mac  of  wearing  it  for  show.  "Because 
if  you  didn't  you  could  wrap  it  round  Kaviak  while  I  help  the 
men  strike  camp."  And  without  waiting  to  see  how  his  sugges 
tion  was  received,  he  caught  up  the  saucepan,  lifted  the  flap,  and 
vanished. 

"Farva,"  remarked  Kaviak,  fixing  melancholy  eyes  on  Mac. 

"I  ain't  your  father,"  muttered  the  gentleman  so  addressed. 
He  picked  up  his  scarf  and  hung  it  round  his  own  neck. 

"Farva!"  insisted  Kaviak.    They  looked  at  each  other. 

"You  cold?  That  it,  hey?"  Mac  knelt  down  and  pulled 
away  the  furs.  "God  bless  me!  you  only  got  this  one  rag  on? 
God  bless  me !"  He  pulled  off  his  muffler  and  wound  the  child 
in  it  mummy-wise,  round  and  round,  muttering  the  while  in  a 
surly  way.  When  it  was  half  done  he  stopped — thought  pro 
foundly  with  a  furrow  cutting  deep  into  his  square  forehead  be 
tween  the  straight  brows.  Slowly  he  pulled  his  gloves  out  of 
his  pocket,  and  turned  out  from  each  beaver  gauntlet  an  inner 
mitten  of  knitted  wool.  "Here,"  he  said,  and  put  both  little 
moccasined  feet  into  one  of  the  capacious  mittens.  Much  pleased 
with  his  ingenuity,  he  went  on  winding  the  long  scarf  until  the 
yellow  little  Esquimaux  bore  a  certain  whimsical  resemblance 
to  one  of  the  adorable  Delia  Robbia  infants.  But  Mac's  sinewy 

56 


TWO   NEW   SPISSIMENS 

hands  were  exerting  a  greater  pressure  than  he  realized.  The 
morsel  made  a  remonstrant  squeaking,  and  squirmed  feebly. 

"Oh,  oh!  Too  tight?  Beg  your  pardon,"  said  Mac  hastily, 
as  though  not  only  English,  but  punctilious  manners  were  under- 
standed  of  Kaviak.  He  relaxed  the  woollen  bandage  till  the 
morsel  lay  contented  again  within  its  folds. 

Nicholas  came  in  for  Kaviak,  and  for  the  furs,  that  he  might 
pack  them  both  in  the  Father's  sled.  Already  the  true  son  of  the 
Church  was  undoing  the  ropes  that  lashed  firm  the  canvas  of  the 
tent. 

"Where's  the  Boy?"  said  Mac  suddenly.  "The  young  fellow 
that's  with  us.  You  know,  the  one  that  found  you  that  first 
Sunday  and  brought  you  to  camp.  Where  is  he?" 

Nicholas  paused  an  instant  with  Kaviak  on  his  shoulder. 

"Kaiomi — no  savvy." 

"You  not  seen  him  to-day?" 

"No.  He  no  up ?"  With  the  swaddled  child  he  made 

a  gesture  up  the  river  towards  the  white  camp. 

"No,  he  came  down  this  morning  to  meet  you." 

Nicholas  shook  his  head,  and  went  on  gathering  up  the  furs. 
As  he  and  Mac  came  out,  Andrew  was  undoing  the  last  fastening 
that  held  the  canvas  to  the  stakes.  In  ten  minutes  they  were  on 
the  trail,  Andrew  leading,  with  Father  Wills'  dogs,  Kaviak  lying 
in  the  sled  muffled  to  the  eyes,  still  looking  round  out  of  the 
corners — no,  strangely  enough,  the  Kaviak  eye  had  no  corners, 
but  fixedly  he  stared  sideways  at  Mac.  "Farva,"  seeming  not  to 
take  the  smallest  notice,  trudged  along  on  one  side  of  him,  the 
priest  on  the  other,  and  behind  came  Nicholas  and  the  other 
Indians  with  the  second  sled.  It  was  too  windy  to  talk  much 
even  had  they  been  inclined. 

The  only  sounds  were  the  Mush!  Mush!  of  the  drivers,  the 
grate  and  swish  of  the  runners  over  the  ice,  and  Kaviak's  cough 
ing. 

Mac  turned  once  and  frowned  at  him.  It  was  curious  that 
the  child  seemed  not  to  mind  these  menacing  looks,  not  in  the 
smallest  degree. 

By-and-by  the  order  of  march  was  disturbed. 

Kaviak's  right  runner,  catching  at  some  obstacle,  swerved  and 
sent  the  sled  bumping  along  on  its  side,  the  small  head  of  the 
passenger  narrowly  escaping  the  ice.  Mac  caught  hold  of  the 
single-tree  and  brought  the  racing  dogs  to  an  abrupt  halt.  The 
priest  and  he  righted  the  sled,  and  Mac  straddling  it,  tucked  in 

57 


THE   MAGNETIC   NORTH 

a  loosened  end  of  fur.  When  all  was  again  in  running  order, 
Mac  was  on  the  same  side  as  Father  Wills.  He  still  wore  that 
look  of  dour  ill-temper,  and  especially  did  he  glower  at  the  un 
fortunate  Kaviak,  seized  with  a  fresh  fit  of  coughing  that  filled 
the  round  eyes  with  tears. 

"Don't  you  get  kind  o'  tired  listenin'  to  that  noise?    Suppose 

I  was  to  carry — just  for  a  bit .    This  is  the  roughest  place 

on  the  trail.  Hi!  Stop !"  he  called  to  Andrew.  The  priest  had 
said  nothing;  but  divining  what  Mac  would  be  at,  he  helped  him 
to  undo  the  raw-hide  lashing,  and  when  Kaviak  was  withdrawn 
he  wrapped  one  of  the  lighter  fur  things  round  him. 

It  was  only  when  Mac  had  marched  off,  glowering  still,  and 
sternly  refusing  to  meet  Kaviak's  tearful  but  grateful  eyes — it 
was  only  then,  bending  over  the  sled  and  making  fast  the  furs, 
that  Father  Wills,  all  to  himself,  smiled  a  little. 

It  wasn't  until  they  w.ere  in  sight  of  the  smoke  from  the  Little 
Cabin  that  Mac  slackened  his  pace.  He  had  never  for  a  mo 
ment  found  the  trail  so  smooth  that  he  could  return  his  burden 
to  the  sled.  Now,  however,  he  allowed  Nicholas  and  the  priest 
to  catch  up  with  him. 

"You  carry  him  the  rest  of  the  way,"  he  commanded,  and  set 
his  burden  in  Nicholas's  arms.  Kaviak  was  ill-pleased,  but  Mac, 
falling  behind  with  the  priest,  stalked  on  with  eyes  upon  the 
ground. 

"I've  got  a  boy  of  my  own,"  he  jerked  out  presently,  with  the 
air  of  a  man  who  accounts  confidentially  for  some  weakness. 

"Really!"  returned  the  priest;  "they  didn't  tell  me." 

"I  haven't  told  them  yet." 

"Oh,  all  right." 

"Why  is  he  called  that  heathen  name?" 

"Kaviak?    Oh,  it's  the  name  of  his  tribe.    His  people  belong  \ 
to  that  branch  of  the  Innuits  known  as  Kaviaks." 

"Humph!  Then  he's  only  Kaviak  as  I'm  MacCann.  I  sup 
pose  you've  christened  him?" 

"Well,  not  yet — no.  What  shall  we  call  him?  What's  your 
boy's  name?" 

"Robert  Bruce."  They  went  on  in  silence  till  Mac  said,  "It's 
on  account  of  my  boy  I  came  up  here." 

^Oh!" 

"It  didn't  use  to  matter  if  a  man  was  poor  and  self-taught, 
but  in  these  days  of  competition  it's  different.  A  boy  must  have 
chances  if  he's  going  to  fight  the  battle  on  equal  terms.  Of 

58 


TWO    NEW   SPISSIMENS 

course,  some  boys  ain't  worth  botherin'  about.     But  my  boy — • 
well,  he  seems  to  have  something  in  him." 

The  priest  listened  silently,  but  with  that  look  of  brotherliness 
on  his  face  that  made  it  so  easy  to  talk  to  him. 

"It  doesn't  really  matter  to  those  other  fellows."  Mac  jerked 
his  hand  towards  the  camp.  "It's  never  so  important  to  men — 
who  stand  alone — but  I've  got  to  strike  it  rich  over  yonder."  He 
lifted  his  head,  and  frowned  defiantly  in  the  general  direction 
of  the  Klondyke,  thirteen  hundred  miles  away.  "It's  my  one 
chance,"  he  added  half  to  himself.  "It  means  everything  to  Bob 
and  me.  Education,  scientific  education,  costs  like  thunder." 

"In  the  United  States?" 

"Oh,  I  mean  to  send  my  boy  to  the  old  country.  I  want  Bob 
to  be  thorough." 

The  priest  smiled,  but  almost  imperceptibly. 

"How  old  is  he?" 

"Oh,  'bout  as  old  as  this  youngster."  Mac  spoke  with  calcu 
lated  indifference. 

"Six  or  thereabouts?" 

"No ;  four  and  a  half.    But  he's  bigger " 

"Of  course." 

"And  you  can  see  already — he's  got  a  lot  in  him." 

Father  Wills  nodded  with  a  conviction  that  brought  Mac 
nearer  confession  than  he  had  ever  been  in  his  life. 

"You  see,"  he  said  quite  low,  and  as  if  the  words  were  dragged 
out  with  pincers,  "the  fact  is — my  married  life — didn't  pan  out 
very  well.  And  I — ran  away  from  home  as  a  little  chap — after 
a  lickin' — and  never  went  back.  But  there's  one  thing  I  mean 
to  make  a  success  of — that's  my  boy." 

"Well,  I  believe  you  will,  if  you  feel  like  that." 

"Why,  they've  gone  clean  past  the  camp  trail,"  said  Mac 
sharply,  "all  but  Nicholas — and  what  in  thunder? — he's  put  the 
kid  back  on  the  sled " 

"Yes,  I  told  my  men  we'd  be  getting  on.  But  they  were  told 
to  leave  you  the  venison " 

"What!  You  goin'  straight  on?  Nonsense!"  Mac  inter 
rupted,  and  began  to  shout  to  the  Indians. 

"No;  I  meant  to  stop;  just  tell  your  friends  so,"  said  the  un 
suspecting  Father;  "but  with  a  sick  child " 

"What  can  you  do  for  him  that  we  can't?  And  to  break  the 
journey  may  make  a  big  difference.  We've  got  some  condensed 

milk  left— and " 

59 


THE   MAGNETIC    NORTH 

"Ah  yes,  but  we  are  more  accustomed  to — it's  hardly  fair  to 
burden  a  neighbour.  No,  we'll  be  getting  on." 

"If  those  fellers  up  there  make  a  row  about  your  bringing  in 
a  youngster" — he  thrust  out  his  jaw — "they  can  settle  the  ac 
count  with  me.  I've  got  to  do  something  for  that  cough  before 
the  kid  goes  on." 

"Well,"  said  the  priest ;  and  so  wily  are  these  Jesuits  that  he 
never  once  mentioned  that  he  was  himself  a  qualified  doctor  in 
full  and  regular  practice.  He  kept  his  eyes  on  the  finished  stock 
ade  and  the  great  chimney,  wearing  majestically  its  floating 
plume  of  smoke. 

"Hi!"  Mac  called  between  his  hands  to  the  Indians,  who  had 
gone  some  distance  ahead.  "Hi!"  He  motioned  them  back  up 
the  hill  trail. 

O'Flynn  had  come  out  of  the  Little  Cabin,  and  seemed  to  be 
laboriously  trundling  something  along  the  footpath.  He  got  so 
excited  when  he  heard  the  noise  and  saw  the  party  that,  inad 
vertently,  he  let  his  burden  slide  down  the  icy  slope,  bumping  and 
bouncing  clumsily  from  one  impediment  to  another. 

"Faith,  look  at  'im!  Sure,  that  fossle  can't  resthrain  his  j'y 
at  seein'  ye  back.  Mac,  it's  yer  elephunt.  I  was  takin'  him  in 
to  the  sate  of  honour  be  the  foir.  We  thought  it  'ud  be  a  pleas 
ant  surprise  fur  ye.  Sure,  ye'r  more  surprised  to  see  'im  leppin' 
down  the  hill  to  meet  ye,  like  a  rale  Irish  tarrier." 

Mac  was  angry,  and  didn't  conceal  the  fact.  As  he  ran  to 
stop  the  thing  before  it  should  be  dashed  to  pieces,  the  priest  hap 
pened  to  glance  back,  and  saw  coming  slowly  along  the  river 
trail  a  solitary  figure  that  seemed  to  make  its  way  with  diffi 
culty. 

"It  looks  as  though  you'd  have  more  than  you  bargained  for, 
at  the  House- Warming,"  he  said. 

O'Flynn  came  down  the  hill  babbling  like  a  brook. 

"Good-day  to  ye,  Father.  The  blessin's  o'  Heaven  on  ye  fur 
not  kapin'  us  starvin'  anny  longer.  There's  Potts  been  swearin', 
be  this  and  be  that,  that  yourself  and  the  little  divvle  wudn't  be 
at  the  Blow-Out  at  ahl,  at  ahl." 

"You  mean  the  Boy  hasn't  come  back?"  called  out  Mac.  He 
leaned  Elephas  primigenius  against  a  tuft  of  willow  banked  round 
with  snow,  and  turned  gloomily  as  if  to  go  back  down  the  river 
again. 

"Who's  this?"  They  all  stood  and  watched  the  limping  trav 
eller. 

60 


TWO    NEW   SPISSIMENS 

"Why  it's — of  course.  I  didn't  know  him  with  that  thing  tied 
over  his  cap";  and  Mac  went  to  meet  him. 

The  Boy  bettered  his  pace. 

"How  did  I  miss  you?"  demanded  Mac. 

"Well,"  said  the  Boy,  looking  rather  mischievous,  "I  can't 
think  how  it  happened  on  the  way  down,  unless  you  passed  when 
I'd  gone  uphill  a  piece  after  some  tracks.  I  was  lyin'  under  the 
bluff  a  few  miles  down  when  you  came  back,  and  you — well,  I 
kind  o'  thought  you  seemed  to  have  your  hands  full."  Mac 
looked  rigid  and  don't-you-try-to-chaff-me-sir.  "Besides,"  the 
Boy  went  on,  "I  couldn't  cover  the  ground  like  you  and  Father 
Wills." 

"What's  the  matter  with  you?" 

"Oh,  nothin'  to  howl  about.    But  see  here,  Mac." 

"Well?" 

"Soon  's  I  can  walk  I'll  go  and  get  you  the  rest  o*  that  ele 
phant." 

There  was  no  more  said  till  they  got  up  to  the  others,  who  had 
waited  for  the  Indians  to  come  back,  and  had  unpacked  Kaviak 
to  spare  him  the  jolting  uphill. 

O'Flynn  was  screaming  with  excitement  as  he  saw  that  the 
bundle  Nicholas  was  carrying  had  a  head  and  two  round  eyes. 

"The  saints  in  glory  be  among  us !  What's  that?  Man  alive, 
what  is  it,  be  the  Siven?" 

"That,"  answered  Mac  with  a  proprietary  air,  "is  a  little 
Esquimaux  boy,  and  I'm  bringing  him  in  to  doctor  his  cold." 

"Glory  be!  An  Esquimer!  And  wid  a  cowld!  Sure,  he  can 
have  some  o'  my  linnyeemint.  Well,  y'arre  a  boss  collector, 
Mac !  Faith,  ye  bang  the  Jews !  And  me  thinkin'  ye'd  be  satis 
fied  wid  yer  elephunt.  Not  him,  be  the  Siven !  It's  an  Esquimer 
he  must  have  to  finish  off  his  collection,  wan  wid  the  rale  Arctic 
cowld  in  his  head,  and  two  eyes  that  goes  snappin'  through  ye 
like  black  torpeders.  Two  spissimens  in  wan  day !  Yer  growin' 
exthravagant,  Mac.  Why,  musha,  child,  if  I  don't  think  yer  the 
dandy  Spissimen  o'  the  lot !" 


6l 


CHAPTER   IV 

THE    BLOW-OUT 

"  How  good  it  is  to  invite  men  to  the  pleasant  feast." 

y^OMFORTABLE  as  rock  fireplace  and  stockade  made 
\jthe  cabin  now,  the  Colonel  had  been  feeling  all  that 
morning  that  the  official  House-Warming  was  fore 
doomed  to  failure.  Nevertheless,  as  he  was  cook  that  week, 
he  could  not  bring  himself  to  treat  altogether  lightly  his  office 
of  Master  of  the  Feast.  There  would  probably  be  no  guests. 
Even  their  own  little  company  would  likely  be  incomplete;  but 
there  was  to  be  a  spread  that  afternoon,  "anyways." 

Even  had  the  Colonel  needed  any  keeping  up  to  the  mark, 
the  office  would  have  been  cheerfully  undertaken  by  O'Flynn 
or  by  Potts,  for  whom  interest  in  the  gustatory  aspect  of  the 
occasion  was  wholly  undimmed  by  the  threatened  absence  of 
Mac  and  the  'little  divvle." 

''There'll  be  the  more  for  us,"  said  Potts  enthusiastically. 

O'Flynn's  argument  seemed  to  halt  upon  a  reservation.  He 
looked  over  the  various  contributions  to  the  feast,  set  out  on 
a  board  in  front  of  the  water-bucket,  and,  "It's  mate  I'm 
wishin'  fur,"  says  he. 

"We've  got  fish." 

"That's  only  mate  on  Fridays.  We've  had  fish  fur  five  days 
stiddy,  an'  befure  that,  bacon  three  times  a  day  wid  sivin  days 
to  the  week,  an'  not  enough  bacon  ayther,  begob,  whin  all's 
said  and  done!  Not  enough  to  be  fillin',  and  plenty  to  give  us 
the^scurrvy.  May  the  divil  dance  on  shorrt  rations!" 

"No  scurvy  in  this  camp  for  a  while  yet,"  said  the  Colonel, 
throwing  some  heavy  objects  into  a  pan  and  washing  them 
vigorously  round  and  round. 

'Pitatjes!"     O'Flynn's  eyes  dwelt  lovingly  on  the  rare  food. 
Yeve  hoarded  'em  too  long,  man;  they've  sprouted." 

That  won't  prevent  you  hoggin'  more'n  your  share,   I'll 
bet,     said  Potts  pleasantly. 

62 


iTHE    BLOW-OUT 

"I  don't  somehow  like  wastmg  the  sprouts,"  observed  the 
Colonel  anxiously.  "It's  such  a  wonderful  sight — something 
growing."  He  had  cut  one  pallid  slip,  and  held  it  tenderly 
between  knife  and  thumb. 

"Waste  'em  with  scurvy  staring  us  in  the  face?  Should 
think  not.  Mix  'em  with  cold  potaters  in  a  salad." 

"No.     Make  slumgullion,"  commanded  O'Flynn. 

"What's  that?"  quoth  the  Colonel. 

"Be  the  Siven!  I  only  wonder  I  didn't  think  of  it  befure. 
Arre  ye  listening,  Kentucky?  Ye  take  lots  o'  wathur,  an'  if 
ye  want  it  rich,  ye  take  the  wathur  ye've  boiled  pitaties  or  cab 
bage  in — a  vegetable  stock,  ye  mind — and  ye  add  a  little  flour, 
salt,  and  pepper,  an'  a  tomater  if  ye're  in  New  York  or  'Frisco, 
and  ye  boil  all  that  together  with  a  few  fish-bones  or  bacon- 
rin's  to  make  it  rale  tasty." 

-Yes— well?" 

"Well,  an'  that's  slumgullion." 

"Don't  sound  heady  enough  for  a  'Blow-Out,'  "  said  the 
Colonel.  "We'll  sober  up  on  slumgullion  to-morrow." 

"Anyhow,  it's  mate  I'm  wishin'  fur,"  sighed  O'Flynn,  sub 
siding  among  the  tin-ware.  "What's  the  good  o'  the  little 
divvle  and  his  thramps,  if  he  can't  bring  home  a  burrud,  or  so 
much  as  the  scut  iv  a  rabbit  furr  the  soup?" 

"Well,  he's  contributed  a  bottle  of  California  apricots,  and 
we'll  have  boiled  rice." 

"An'  punch,  glory  be!" 

"Y-yes,"  answered  the  Colonel.  "I've  been  thinkin'  a  good 
deal  about  the  punch." 

"So's  myself,"  said  O'Flynn  frankly;  but  Potts  looked  at 
the  Colonel  suspiciously  through  narrowed  eyes. 

"There's  very  little  whiskey  left,  and  I  propose  to  brew  a 
mild  bowl " 

"To  hell  with  your  mild  bowls!" 

"A  good  enough  punch,  sah,  but  one  that — that — a — well, 
that  the  whole  kit  and  boodle  of  us  can  drink.  Indians  and 
everybody,  you  know  .  .  .  Nicholas  and  Andrew  may  turn 
up.  I  want  you  two  fellas  to  suppoht  me  about  this.  There 
are  reasons  foh  it,  sah" — he  had  laid  a  hand  on  Potts'  shoul 
der  and  fixed  O'Flynn  with  his  eye — "and" — speaking  very 
solemnly — "yoh  neither  o'  yoh  gentlemen  that  need  mo'  said  on 
the  subject." 

Whereupon,  having  cut  the  ground  from  under  their  feet, 

63 


THE    MAGNETIC   NORTH 

he  turned  decisively,  and  stirred  the  mush-pot  with  a  magnifi 
cent  air  and  a  newly-whittled  birch  stick. 

To  give  the  Big  Cabin  an  aspect  of  solid  luxury,  they  had 
spread  the  Boy's  old  buffalo  "robe"  on  the  floor,  and  as  the 
morning  wore  on  Potts  and  O'Flynn  made  one  or  two  expe 
ditions  to  the  Little  Cabin,  bringing  back  selections  out  of 
Mac's  hoard  "to  decorate  the  banquet-hall,"  as  they  said.  On 
the  last  trip  Potts  refused  to  accompany  his  pardner — no,  it 
was  no  good.  Mac  evidently  wouldn't  be  back  to  see,  and  the 
laugh  would  be  on  them  "takin'  so  much  trouble  for  nothin'." 
And  O'Flynn  wasn't  to  be  long  either,  for  dinner  had  been 
absurdly  postponed  already. 

When  the  door  opened  the  next  time,  it  was  to  admit  Mac, 
Nicholas  with  Kaviak  in  his  arms,  O'Flynn  gesticulating  like 
a  windmill,  and,  last  of  all,  the  Boy. 

Kaviak  was  formally  introduced,  but  instead  of  responding 
to  his  hosts'  attentions,  the  only  thing  he  seemed  to  care  about, 
or  even  see,  was  something  that  in  the  hurly-burly  everybody 
else  overlooked — the  decorations.  Mac's  stuffed  birds  and 
things  made  a  remarkably  good  show,  but  the  colossal  success 
was  reserved  for  the  minute  shrunken  skin  of  the  baby  white 
hare  set  down  in  front  of  the  great  fire  for  a  hearthrug.  If 
the  others  failed  to  appreciate  that  joke,  not  so  Kaviak.  He 
gave  a  gurgling  cry,  struggled  down  out  of  Nicholas's  arms, 
and  folded  the  white  hare  to  his  breast. 

"Where  are  the  other  Indians?"  said  Mac. 

"Looking  after  the  dogs,"  said  Father  Wills ;  and  as  the  door 
opened,  "Oh  yes,  give  us  that,"  he  said  to  Andrew.  "  I 
thought" — he  turned  to  the  Colonel — "maybe  you'd  like  to  try 
some  Yukon  reindeer." 

^Hooray!" 

"Mate?    Arre  ye  sayin'  mate,  or  is  an  angel  singin'?" 

"Now  I  know  that  man's  a  Christian,"  soliloquised  Potts. 

"Look  here:  it'll  take  a  little  time  to  cook,"  said  Mac,  "and 
it's  worth  waitin'  for.  Can  you  let  us  have  a  pail  o'  hot  water 
in  the  meantime?" 

"Y-yes,"  said  the  Colonel,  looking  as  if  he  had  enough  to 
think  about  already. 

"Yes,  we  always  wash  them  first  of  all,"  said  Father  Wills, 
noticing  how  Mac  held  the  little  heathen  off  at  arm's  length. 
"Nicholas  used  to  help  with  that  at  Holy  Cross."  He  gave  the 
new  order  with  the  old  authoritative  gesture. 


THE    BLOW-OUT 

"And  where's  the  liniment  I  lent  you  that  you're  so  gen 
erous  with?"  Mac  arraigned  O'Flynn.  "Go  and  get  it." 

Under  Nicholas's  hands  Kaviak  was  forced  to  relinquish  not 
only  the  baby  hare,  but  his  own  elf  locks.  He  was  closely 
sheared,  his  moccasins  put  off,  and  his  single  garment  dragged 
unceremoniously  wrong  side  out  over  his  head  and  bundled  out 
of  doors. 

"Be  the  Siven!  he's  got  as  manny  bones  as  a  skeleton!" 

"Poor  little  codger!"  The  Colonel  stood  an  instant,  skillet 
in  hand  staring. 

"What's  that  he's  got  round  his  neck?"  said  the  Boy,  moving 
nearer. 

Kaviak,  seeing  the  keen  look  menacing  his  treasure,  lifted  a 
shrunken  yellow  hand  and  clasped  tight  the  dirty  shapeless 
object  suspended  from  a  raw-hide  necklace. 

Nicholas  seemed  to  hesitate  to  divest  him  of  this  sole  remain 
ing  possession. 

"You  must  get  him  to  give  it  up,"  said  Father  Wills,  "and 
burn  it." 

Kaviak  flatly  declined  to  fall  in  with  as  much  as  he  under 
stood  of  this  arrangement. 

"What  is  it,  anyway?"  the  Boy  pursued. 

"His  amulet,  I  suppose."  As  Father  Wills  proceeded  to 
enforce  his  order,  and  pulled  the  leather  string  over  the  child's 
head,  Kaviak  rent  the  air  with  shrieks  and  coughs.  He  seemed 
to  say  as  well  as  he  could,  "I  can  do  without  my  parki  and  my 
mucklucks,  but  I'll  take  my  death  without  my  amulet." 

Mac  insinuated  himself  brusquely  between  the  victim  and  his 
persecutors.  He  took  the  dirty  object  away  from  the  priest 
with  scant  ceremony,  in  spite  of  the  whisper,  "Infection!"  and 
gave  it  back  to  the  wrathful  owner. 

"You  talk  his  language,  don't  you?"  Mac  demanded  of 
Nicholas. 

The  Pymeut  pilot  nodded. 

"Tell  him,  if  he'll  lend  the  thing  to  me  to  wash,  he  shall 
have  it  back." 

Nicholas  explained. 

Kaviak,  with  streaming  eyes  and  quivering  lips,  reluctantly 
handed  it  over,  and  watched  Mac  anxiously  till  overwhelmed 
by  a  yet  greater  misfortune  in  the  shape  of  a  bath  for  himself. 

"How  shall  I  clean  this  thing  thoroughly?"  Mac  conde 
scended  to  ask  Father  Wills.  The  priest  shrugged. 

6s 


THE    MAGNETIC   NORTH 

"He'll  have  forgotten  it  to-morrow." 

"He  shall  have  it  to-morrow,"  said  Mac. 

With  his  back  to  Kaviak,  the  Boy,  O'Flynn,  and  Potts 
crowding  round  him,  Mac  ripped  open  the  little  bird-skin 
pouch,  and  took  out  three  objects — an  ivory  mannikin,  a  crow's 
feather,  and  a  thing  that  Father  Wills  said  was  a  seal-blood 
plug. 

"What's  it  for?" 

"Same  as  the  rest.  It's  an  amulet;  only  as  it's  used  to  stop 
the  flow  of  blood  from  the  wound  of  a  captive  seal,  it  is  sup 
posed  to  be  the  best  of  all  charms  for  anyone  who  spits  blood." 

"I'll  clean  'em  all  after  the  Blow-Out,"  said  Mac,  and  he 
went  out,  buried  the  charms  in  the  snow,  and  stuck  up  a 
spruce  twig  to  mark  the  spot. 

Meanwhile,  to  poor  Kaviak  it  was  being  plainly  demon 
strated  what  an  awful  fate  descended  on  a  person  so  unlucky 
as  to  part  with  his  amulet.  He  stood  straight  up  in  the  bucket 
like  a  champagne-bottle  in  a  cooler,  and  he  could  not  have 
resented  his  predicament  more  if  he  had  been  set  in  crushed 
ice  instead  of  warm  water.  Under  the  remorseless  hands  of 
Nicholas  he  began  to  splutter  and  choke,  to  fizz,  and  finally 
explode  with  astonishment  and  wrath.  It  was  quite  clear  Nich 
olas  was  trying  to  drown  him.  He  took  the  treatment  so  to 
heart,  that  he  kept  on  howling  dismally  for  some  time  after  he 
was  taken  out,  and  dried,  and  linimented  and  dosed  by  Mac, 
whose  treachery  about  the  amulet  he  seemed  to  forgive,  since 
"Farva"  had  had  the  air  of  rescuing  him  from  the  horrors  he 
had  endured  in  that  water-bucket,  where,  for  all  Kaviak  knew, 
he  might  have  stayed  till  he  succumbed  to  death.  The  Boy 
contributed  a  shirt  of  his  own,  and  helped  Mac  to  put  it  on 
the  incredibly  thin  little  figure.  The  shirt  came  down  to 
Kaviak's  heels,  and  had  to  have  the  sleeves  rolled  up  every 
two  minutes.  But  by  the  time  the  reindeer-steak  was  nearly 
done  Kaviak  was  done,  too,  and  O'Flynn  had  said,  "That 
Spissimen  does  ye  credit,  Mac." 

Said  Spissimen  was  now  staring  hungrily  out  of  the  Colonel's 
bunk,  holding  towards  Mac  an  appealing  hand,  with  half  a 
yard  of  shirt-sleeve  falling  over  it. 

Mac  pretended  not  to  see,  and  drew  up  to  the  table  the  one 
remaining  available  thing  to  sit  on,  his  back  to  his  patient. 

When  the  dogs  had  been  fed,  and  the  other  Indians  had  come 
in,  and  squatted  on  the  buffalo-skin  with  Nicholas,  the  first 

66 


THE    BLOW-OUT 

course  was  sent  round  in  tin  cups,  a  nondescript,  but  warming, 
"camp  soup." 

"Sorry  we've  got  so  few  dishes,  gentlemen,"  the  Colonel  had 
said.  "We'll  have  to  ask  some  of  you  to  wait  till  others  have 
finished." 

"Farva,"  remarked  Kaviak,  leaning  out  of  the  bunk  and 
sniffing  the  savoury  steam. 

"He  takes  you  for  a  priest,"  said  Potts,  with  the  cheerful  in 
tention  of  stirring  Mac's  bile.  But  not  even  so  damning  a 
suspicion  as  that  could  cool  the  collector's  kindness  for  his  new 
Spissimen. 

"You  come  here,"  he  said.  Kaviak  didn't  understand.  The 
Boy  got  up,  limped  over  to  the  bunk,  lifted  the  child  out,  and 
brought  him  to  Mac's  side. 

"Since  there  ain't  enough  cups,"  said  Mac,  in  self -justifica 
tion,  and  he  put  his  own,  half  empty,  to  Kaviak's  lips.  The 
Spissimen  imbibed  greedily,  audibly,  and  beamed.  Mac,  with 
unimpaired  gravity,  took  no  notice  of  the  huge  satisfaction  this 
particular  remedy  was  giving  his  patient,  except  to  say  sol 
emnly,  "Don't  bubble  in  it." 

The  next  course  was  fish  a  la  Pymeut. 

"You're  lucky  to  be  able  to  get  it,"  said  the  Father,  whether 
with  suspicion  or  not  no  man  could  tell.  "I  had  to  send  back 
for  some  by  a  trader  and  couldn't  get  enough." 

"We  didn't  see  any  trader,"  said  the  Boy  to  divert  the 
current. 

"He  may  have  gone  by  in  the  dusk;  he  was  travelling  hot 
foot." 

"Thought  that  steamship  was  chockful  o'  grub.  What  did 
you  want  o'  fish?" 

"Yes;  they've  got  plenty  of  food,  but ' 

"They  don't  relish  parting  with  it,"  suggested  Potts. 

"They  haven't  much  to  think  about  except  what  they  eat; 
they  wanted  to  try  our  fish,  and  were  ready  to  exchange. 
I  promised  I  would  send  a  load  back  from  Ikogimeut  if 
they'd "  He  seemed  not  to  care  to  finish  the  sentence. 

"So  you  didn't  do  much  for  the  Pymeuts  after  all?" 

"I  did  something,"  he  said  almost  shortly.  Then,  with  re 
covered  serenity,  he  turned  to  the  Boy:  "I  promised  I'd  bring 
back  any  news." 

"Yes." 

"Well?" 

67 


THE    MAGNETIC   NORTH 

Everybody  stopped  eating  and  hung  on  the  priest's  words. 

"Captain  Rainey's  heard  there's  a  big  new  strike " 

"In  the  Klondyke?" 

"On  the  American  side  this  time." 

"Hail  Columbia!" 

"Whereabouts?" 

"At  a  place  called  Minook." 

"Where's  that?" 

"Up  the  river  by  the  Ramparts." 

"How  far?" 

"Oh,  a  little  matter  of  six  or  seven  hundred  miles  from 
here." 

"Glory  to  God!" 

"Might  as  well  be  six  or  seven  thousand." 

"And  very  probably  isn't  a  bona-fide  strike  at  all,"  said  the 
priest,  "but  just  a  stampede — a  very  different  matter." 

"Well,  I  tell  you  straight:  I  got  no  use  for  a  gold-mine  in 
Minook  at  this  time  o'  year." 

"Nop !  Venison  steak's  more  in  my  line  than  grub-stake  just 
about  now." 

Potts  had  to  bestir  himself  and  wash  dishes  before  he  could 
indulge  in  his  "line."  When  the  grilled  reindeer  did  appear, 
flanked  by  really-truly  potatoes  and  the  Colonel's  hot  Kentucky 
biscuit,  there  was  no  longer  doubt  in  any  man's  mind  but  what 
this  Blow-Out  was  being  a  success. 

"Colonel's  a  daisy  cook,  ain't  he?"  the  Boy  appealed  to 
Father  Wills. 

The  Jesuit  assented  cordially. 

"My  family  meant  me  for  the  army,"  he  said.  "Seen  much 
service,  Colonel?" 

The  Kentuckian  laughed. 

"Never  wasted  a  day  soldiering  in  my  life." 

"Oh!" 

"Maybe  you're  wonderin',"  said  Potts,  "why  he's  a  Colonel!" 

The  Jesuit  made  a  deprecatory  gesture,  politely  disclaiming 
any  such  rude  curiosity. 

"He's  from  Kentucky,  you  see;"  and  the  smile  went  round. 
"Beyond  that,  we  can't  tell  you  why  he's  a  Colonel  unless  it's 
because  he  ain't  a  Judge;"  and  the  boss  of  the  camp  laughed 
with  the  rest,  for  the  Denver  man  had  scored. 

By  the  time  they  got  to  the  California  apricots  and  boiled 
rice  everybody  was  feeling  pretty  comfortable.  When,  at  last, 

68 


THE    BLOW-OUT 

the  table  was  cleared,  except  for  the  granite- ware  basin  full  of 
punch,  and  when  all  available  cups  were  mustered  and  tobacco- 
pouches  came  out,  a  remarkably  genial  spirit  pervaded  the  com 
pany — with  three  exceptions. 

Potts  and  O'Flynn  waited  anxiously  to  sample  the  punch 
before  giving  way  to  complete  satisfaction,  and  Kaviak  was 
impervious  to  considerations  either  of  punch  or  conviviality, 
being  wrapped  in  slumber  on  a  corner  of  the  buffalo-skin,  be 
tween  Mac's  stool  and  the  natives,  who  also  occupied  places  on 
the  floor. 

Upon  O'Flynn's  first  draught  he  turned  to  his  next  neigh 
bour: 

"Potts,  me  bhoy,  'tain't  s'  bad." 

"I'll  bet  five  dollars  it  won't  make  yer  any  happier." 

"Begob,  I'm  happy  enough!  Gentlemen,  wud  ye  like  I 
should  sing  ye  a  song?" 

"Yes." 

"Yes,"  and  the  Colonel  thumped  the  table  for  order,  infi 
nitely  relieved  that  the  dinner  was  done,  and  the  punch  not 
likely  to  turn  into  a  casus  belli.  O'Flynn  began  a  ditty  about 
the  Widdy  Malone  that  woke  up  Kaviak  and  made  him  rub 
his  round  eyes  with  astonishment.  He  sat  up,  and  hung  on  to 
the  back  of  Mac's  coat  to  make  sure  he  had  some  anchorage 
in  the  strange  new  waters  he  had  so  suddenly  been  called  on 
to  navigate. 

The  song  ended,  the  Colonel,  as  toast-master,  proposed  the 
health  of —  he  was  going  to  say  Father  Wills,  but  felt  it  dis- 
creeter  to  name  no  names.  Standing  up  in  the  middle  of  the 
cabin,  where  he  didn't  have  to  stoop,  he  lifted  his  cup  till  it 
knocked  against  the  swing-shelf,  and  called  out,  "Here's  to 
Our  Visitors,  Neighbours,  and  Friends!"  Whereupon  he 
made  a  stately  circular  bow,  which  ended  by  his  offering  Kaviak 
his  hand,  in  the  manner  of  one  who  executes  a  figure  in  an 
old-fashioned  dance.  The  smallest  of  "Our  Visitors,"  still 
keeping  hold  of  Mac,  presented  the  Colonel  with  the  disen 
gaged  half-yard  of  flannel  undershirt  on  the  other  side,  and  the 
speech  went  on,  very  flowery,  very  hospitable,  very  Ken- 
tuckian. 

When  the  Colonel  sat  down  there  was  much  applause,  and 
O'Flynn,  who  had  lent  his  cup  to  Nicholas,  and  didn't  feel  he 
could  wait  till  it  came  back,  began  to  drink  punch  out  of  the 
dipper  between  shouts  of: 

69 


THE    MAGNETIC   NORTH 

"Hooray!  Brayvo!  Here's  to  the  Kurrnul!  God  bless  him! 
That's  rale  oratry,  Kurrnul!  Here's  to  Kentucky — and  ould 
Ireland." 

Father  Wills  stood  up,  smiling,  to  reply. 

"Friends"  (the  Boy  thought  the  keen  eyes  rested  a  fraction 
of  a  moment  longer  on  Mac  than  on  the  rest), — "/  think  in 
some  ways  this  is  the  pleasantest  House-Warming  I  ever  went 
to.  I  wont  take  up  time  thanking  the  Colonel  for  the  friendly 
sentiments  he's  expressed,  though  I  return  them  heartily.  I 
must  use  these  moments  you  are  good  enough  to  give  me  in 
telling  you  something  of  what  I  feel  is  implied  in  the  founding 
of  this  camp  of  yours. 

"Gentlemen,  the  few  white  dwellers  in  the  Yukon  country 
have  not  looked  forward"  (his  eyes  twinkled  almost  wickedly) 
"with  that  pleasure  you  might  expect  in  exiles,  to  the  influx  of 
people  brought  up  here  by  the  great  Gold  Discovery.  We  knew 
what  that  sort  of  craze  leads  to.  We  knew  that  in  a  barren 
land  like  this,  more  and  more  denuded  of  wild  game  every  year, 
more  and  more  the  prey  of  epidemic  disease — we  knew  that  into 
this  sorely  tried  and  hungry  world  would  come  a  horde  of  men, 
all  of  them  ignorant  of  the  conditions  up  here,  most  of  them 
ill-provided  with  proper  food  and  clothing,  many  of  them  (I 
can  say  it  without  offence  in  this  company) — many  of  them  men 
whom  the  older,  richer  communities  were  glad  to  get  rid  of. 
Gentlemen,  I  have  ventured  to  take  you  into  our  confidence 
so  far,  because  I  want  to  take  you  still  farther — to  tell  you  a 
little  of  the  intense  satisfaction  with  which  we  recognise  that 
good  fortune  has  sent  us  in  you  just  the  sort  of  neighbours  we 
had  not  dared  to  hope  for.  It  means  more  to  us  than  you 
realise.  When  I  heard  a  few  weeks  ago  that,  in  addition  to  \ 
the  boat-loads  that  had  already  got  some  distance  up  the  river 
beyond  Holy  Cross "  • 

"Going  to  Dawson?" 

"Oh,  yes,  Klondyke  mad " 

"They'll  be  there  before  us,  boys!" 

"Anyways,  they'll  get  to  Minook." 

The  Jesuit  shook  his  head.  "It  isn't  so  certain.  They 
probably  made  only  a  couple  of  hundred  miles  or  so  before  the 
Yukon  went  to  sleep." 

"Then  if  grub  gives  out  they'll  be  comin'  back  here?"  sug 
gested  Potts. 

"Small  doubt  of  it,"  agreed  the  priest.    "And  when  I  heard 

70 


THE    BLOW-OUT 

there  were  parties  of  the  same  sort  stranded  at  intervals  all 
along  the  Lower  River " 

"You  sure?" 

He  nodded. 

"And  when  Father  Orloff  of  the  Russian  mission  told  us 
that  he  was  already  having  trouble  with  the  two  big  rival 
parties  frozen  in  the  ice  below  Ikogimeut " 

"Gosh!     Wonder  if  any  of  'em  were  on  our  ship?" 

"Well,  gentlemen,  I  do  not  disguise  from  you  that,  when  I 
heard  of  the  large  amount  of  whiskey,  the  small  amount  of 
food,  and  the  low  type  of  manners  brought  in  by  these  gold- 
seekers,  I  felt  my  fears  justified.  Such  men  don't  work,  dont 
contribute  anything  to  the  decent  social  life  of  the  community, 
don't  build  cabins  like  this.  When  I  came  down  on  the  ice 
the  first  time  after  you'd  camped,  and  I  looked  up  and  saw 
your  solid  stone  chimney"  (he  glanced  at  Mac),  "/  didn't 
know  what  a  House-W arming  it  would  make;  but  already, 
from  far  off  across  the  ice  and  snow,  that  chimney  warmed  my 
heart.  Gentlemen,  the  fame  of  it  has  gone  up  the  river  and 
down  the  river.  Father  Orloff  is  coming  to  see  it  next  week, 
and  so  are  the  white  traders  from  Anvik  and  Andreiefsky,  for 
they've  heard  there's  nothing  like  it  in  the  Yukon.  Of  course, 
I  know  that  you  gentlemen  have  not  come  to  settle  permanently. 
I  know  that  when  the  Great  White  Silence,  as  they  call  the 
long  winter  up  here,  is  broken  by  the  thunder  of  the  ice  rush 
ing  down  to  the  sea,  you,  like  the  rest,  will  exchange  the  snow- 
fields  for  the  gold-fields,  and  pass  out  of  our  ken.  Now,  I'm 
not  usually  prone  to  try  my  hand  at  prophecy;  but  I  am 
tempted  to  say,  even  on  our  short  acquaintance,  that  I  am 
tolerably  sure  that,  while  we  shall  be  willing  enough  to  spare 
most  of  the  new-comers  to  the  Klondyke,  we  shall  grudge  to 
the  gold-fields  the  men  who  built  this  camp  and  warmed  this 
cabin"  (His  eye  rested  reflectively  on  Mac.)  "/  dont  wish 
to  sit  down  leaving  an  impression  of  speaking  with  entire  lack 
of  sympathy  of  the  impulse  that  brings  men  up  here  for  gold. 
I  believe  that,  even  with  the  sort  in  the  two  camps  below 
Ikogimeut — drinking,  quarrelling,  and  making  trouble  with  the 
natives  at  the  Russian  mission — /  believe  that  even  with  them, 
the  gold  they  came  up  here  for  is  a  symbol — a  fetich,  some  of 
us  may  think.  When  such  men  have  it  in  their  hands,  they 
feel  dimly  that  they  are  laying  tangible  hold  at  last  on  some 
elusive  vision  of  happiness,  that  has  hitherto  escaped  them.  Be* 

71 


THE    MAGNETIC   NORTH 

hind  each  man  braving  the  Arctic  winter  up  here,  is  some  hope, 
not  all  ignoble;  some  devotion,  not  all  unsanctified.  Behind 
most  of  these  men  I  seem  to  see  a  wife  or  child,  a  parent,  or 
some  dear  dream  that  gives  that  man  his  share  in  the  Eternal 
Hope.  Friends,  we  call  that  thing  we  look  for  by  different 
names;  but  we  are  all  seekers  after  treasure,  all  here  have 
turned  our  backs  on  home  and  comfort,  hunting  for  the  Great 
Reward — each  man  a  new  Columbus  looking  for  the  New 
World.  Some  of  us  looking  north,  some  south,  some11 — he  hesi 
tated  the  briefest  moment,  and  then  with  a  faint  smile,  half 
sad,  half  triumphant,  made  a  little  motion  of  his  head — "some 
of  us  .  .  .  looking  upwards." 

But  quickly,  as  though  conscious  that,  if  he  had  raised  the 
moral  tone  of  the  company,  he  had  not  raised  its  spirits,  he 
hurried  on: 

"Before  I  sit  down,  gentlemen,  just  one  word  more.  I  must 
congratulate  you  on  having  found  out  so  soon,  not  only  the  wis 
dom,  but  the  pleasure  of  looking  at  this  Arctic  world  with  in 
telligent  eyes,  and  learning  some  of  her  wonderful  lessons.  It 
is  so  that,  now  the  hardest  work  is  finished,  you  will  keep  up 
your  spirits  and  avoid  the  disease  that  attacks  all  new-comers 
who  simply  eat,  sleep,  and  wait  for  the  ice  to  go  out.  When  I 
hear  cheechalkos  complaining  of  boredom  up  here  in  this  world 
of  daily  miracles,  I  think  of  the  native  boy  in  the  history-class, 
who,  called  on  to  describe  the  progress  of  civilisation,  said:  'In 
those  days  men  had  as  many  wives  as  they  liked,  and  that  was 
called  polygamy.  Now  they  have  only  one  wife,  and  that's 
called  monotony.1  " 

While  O'Flynn  howled  with  delight,  the  priest  wound  up: 
"Gentlemen,  if  we  find  monotony  up  here,  it's  not  the  coun 
try's  fault,  but  a  defect  in  our  own  civilisation"     Wherewith 
he  sat  down  amid  cheers. 

"Now,  Colonel,  is  Mac  goin'  to  recite  some  Border  ballads?" 
inquired  the  Boy,  "or  will  he  make  a  speech,  or  do  a  High 
land  fling?" 

The  Colonel  called  formally  upon  Mr.  MacCann. 
Mac  was  no  sooner  on  his  legs  than  Kaviak,  determined  not 
to  lose  his  grasp  of  the  situation,  climbed  upon  the  three-legged 
stool  just  vacated,  and  resumed  his  former  relations  with  the 
friendly  coat-tail. 

Everybody  laughed  but  Mac,  who  pretended  not  to  know 
what  was  going  on  behind  his  back. 

72 


THE   BLOW-OUT 

"Gentlemen,"  he  began  harshly,  with  the  air  of  one  about 
to  launch  a  heavy  indictment,  "there's  one  element  largely  rep 
resented  here  by  numbers  and  by  interests" — he  turned  round 
suddenly  toward  the  natives,  and  almost  swung  Kaviak  off  into 
space — "one  element  not  explicitly  referred  to  in  the  speeches, 
either  of  welcome  or  of  thanks.  But,  gentlemen,  I  submit  that 
these  hitherto  unrecognised  Natives  are  our  real  hosts,  and  a 
word  about  them  won't  be  out  of  place.  I've  been  told  to-day 
that,  whether  in  Alaska,  Greenland,  or  British  America,  they 
call  themselves  Innuits,  which  means  human  beings.  They  be 
lieved,  no  doubt,  that  they  were  the  only  ones  in  the  world. 
I've  been  thinking  a  great  deal  about  these  Esquimaux  of 
late " 

"Hear,  hear!" 

"About  their  origin  and  their  destiny."  (Mac  was  begin 
ning  to  enjoy  himself.  The  Boy  was  beginning  to  be  bored 
and  to  drum  softly  with  his  fingers.)  "Now,  gentlemen,  Buf- 
fon  says  that  the  poles  were  the  first  portions  of  the  earth's 
crust  to  cool.  While  the  equator,  and  even  the  tropics  of 
Cancer  and  of  Capricorn,  were  still  too  boiling  hot  to  support 
life,  up  here  in  the  Arctic  regions  there  was  a  carboniferous  era 
goin'  on " 

"Where's  the  coal,  then?"  sneered  Potts. 

"It's  bein'  discovered  ...  all  over  .  .  .  ask  him " 
(indicating  Father  Wills,  who  smiled  assent).  "Tropical  for 
ests  grew  where  there  are  glayshers  now,  and  elephants  and 
mastodons  began  life  here." 

"Jimminy  Christmas!"  interrupted  the  Boy,  sitting  up  very 
straight.  "Is  that  Buffer  you  quoted  a  good  authority?" 

"First-rate,"  Mac  snapped  out  defiantly. 

"Good  Lord!  then  the  Garden  o'  Eden  was  up  here." 

"Hey?" 

"Course!  This  was  the  cradle  o'  the  human  race.  Blow 
the  Ganges!  Blow  the  Nile!  It  was  our  Yukon  that  saw 
the  first  people,  'cause  of  course  the  first  people  lived  in  the 
first  place  got  ready  for  'em." 

"That  don't  follow.     Read  your  Bible." 

"If  I'm  not  right,  how  did  it  happen  there  were  men  here 
when  the  North  was  first  discovered?" 

"Sh!" 

"Mac's  got  the  floor." 

"Shut  up!" 

73 


THE    MAGNETIC    NORTH 

But  the  Boy  thumped  the  table  with  one  hand  and  arraigned 
the  schoolmaster  with  the  other. 

"Now,  Mac,  I  put  it  to  you  as  a  man  o'  science :  if  the  race 
had  got  a  foothold  in  any  other  part  o'  the  world,  what  in 
Sam  Hill  could  make  'em  come  up  here?" 

"We're  here." 

"Yes,  tomfools  after  gold.  They  never  dreamed  there  was 
gold.  No,  Sheet  the  only  thing  on  earth  that  could  make  men 
stay  here,  would  be  that  they  were  born  here,  and  didn't  know 
any  better.  Don't  the  primitive  man  cling  to  his  home,  no 
matter  what  kind  o'  hole  it  is?  He's  afraid  to  leave  it.  And 
these  first  men  up  here,  why,  it's  plain  as  day — they  just  hung 
on,  things  gettin'  worse  and  worse,  and  colder  and  colder,  and 
some  said,  as  the  old  men  we  laugh  at  say  at  home,  'The  cli 
mate  ain't  what  it  was  when  I  was  a  boy,'  and  nobody  believed 
'em,  but  everybody  began  to  dress  warmer  and  eat  fat,  and " 

"All  that  Buffon  says  is " 

"Yes — and  they  invented  one  thing  after  another  to  meet 
the  new  conditions — kaiaks  and  bidarras  and  ivory-tipped  har 
poons" — he  was  pouring  out  his  new  notions  at  the  fastest  ex 
press  rate — "and  the  animals  that  couldn't  stand  it  emigrated, 
and  those  that  stayed  behind  got  changed " 

"Dry  up." 

"One  at  a  time." 

-Buffon " 

"Yes,  yes,  Mac,  and  the  hares  got  white,  and  the  men, 
playin'  a  losin'  game  for  centuries,  got  dull  in  their  heads  and 
stunted  in  their  legs — always  cramped  up  in  a  kaiak  like  those 
fellas  at  St.  Michael's.  And,  why,  it's  clear  as  crystal — they're 
survivals!  The  Esquimaux  are  the  oldest  race  in  the  world." 

"Who's  makin'  this  speech?" 

"Order!" 

^Order!" 

"Well,  see  here:  do  you  admit  it,  Mac?  Don't  you  see  there 
were  just  a  few  enterprisin'  ones  who  cleared  out,  or,  maybe, 
got  carried  away  in  a  current,  and  found  better  countries  and 
got  rich  and  civilised,  and  became  our  forefathers?  Hey,  boys, 
ain't  I  right?" 

"You  sit  down." 

"You'll  get  chucked  out." 

-Buffon " 

Everybody  was  talking  at  once. 

74 


THE    BLOW-OUT 

"Why,  it  goes  on  still,"  the  Boy  roared  above  the  din.  "Peo 
ple  who  stick  at  home,  and  are  patient,  and  put  up  with  things, 
they're  doomed.  But  look  at  the  fellas  that  come  out  o'  starv- 
in'  attics  and  stinkin'  pigsties  to  America.  They  live  like  lords, 
and  they  look  at  life  like  men." 

Mac  was  saying  a  great  deal  about  the  Ice  Age  and  the 
first  and  second  periods  of  glaciation,  but  nobody  could  hear 
what. 

"Prince  Nicholas?  Well,  I  should  smile.  He  belongs  to 
the  oldest  family  in  the  world.  Hoop-la!"  The  Boy  jumped 
up  on  his  stool  and  cracked  his  head  against  the  roof;  but  he 
only  ducked,  rubbed  his  wild,  long  hair  till  it  stood  out  wilder 
than  ever,  and  went  on:  "Nicholas's  forefathers  were  kings 
before  Caesar;  they  were  here  before  the  Pyramids " 

The  Colonel  came  round  and  hauled  the  Boy  down.  Potts 
was  egging  the  miscreant  on.  O'Flynn,  poorly  disguising  his 
delight  in  a  scrimmage,  had  been  shouting:  "Ye'll  spoil  the 
Blow-Out,  ye  meddlin'  jackass!  Can't  ye  let  Mac  make  his 
spache?  No;  ye  must  ahlways  be  huntin'  round  fur  harrum 
to  be  doin'  or  throuble  to  make." 

In  the  turmoil  and  the  contending  of  many  voices  Nicholas 
began  to  explain  to  his  friends  that  it  wasn't  a  real  fight,  as 
it  had  every  appearance  of  being,  and  the  visitors  were  in  no 
immediate  danger  of  their  lives.  But  Kaviak  feared  the  worst, 
and  began  to  weep  forlornly. 

"The  world  is  dyin'  at  top  and  bottom!"  screamed  the  Boy, 
writhing  under  the  Colonel's  clutch.  "The  ice  will  spread, 
the  beasts  will  turn  white,  and  we'll  turn  yella,  and  we'll  all 
dress  in  skins  and  eat  fat  and  be  exactly  like  Kaviak,  and  the 
last  man'll  be  found  tryin'  to  warm  his  hands  at  the  Equator, 
his  feet  on  an  iceberg  and  his  nose  in  a  snowstorm.  Your  old 
Buffer's  got  a  long  head,  Mac.  Here's  to  Buffer!"  Where 
upon  he  subsided  and  drank  freely  of  punch. 

"Well,"  said  the  Colonel,  severely,  "you've  had  a  Blow-Out 
if  nobody  else  has!" 

"Feel  better?"  inquired  Potts,  tenderly. 

"Now,  Mac,  you  shall  have  a  fair  field,"  said  the  Colonel, 
"and  if  the  Boy  opens  his  trap  again " 

"I'll  punch  'im,"  promised  O'Flynn,  replenishing  the  dis 
turber's  cup. 

But  Mac  wouldn't  be  drawn.  Besides,  he  was  feeding 
Kaviak.  So  the  Colonel  filled  in  the  breach  with  "My  old 

75 


THE   MAGNETIC   NORTH 

Kentucky  Home,"  which  he  sang  with  much  feeling,  if  not 
great  art. 

This  performance  restored  harmony  and  a  gentle  reflective 
ness. 

Father  Wills  told  about  his  journey  up  here  ten  years  before 
and  of  a  further  expedition  he'd  once  made  far  north  to  the 
Koyukuk. 

"But  Nicholas  knows  more  about  the  native  life  and  legends 
than  anyone  I  ever  met,  except,  of  course,  Yagorsha." 

"Who's  Yag ?"  began  the  Boy. 

"Oh,  that's  the  Village  Story-teller."  He  was  about  to  speak 
of  something  else,  but,  lifting  his  eyes,  he  caught  Mac's  sud 
den  glance  of  grudging  attention.  The  priest  looked  away,  and 
went  on:  "There's  a  story-teller  in  every  settlement.  He  has 
always  been  a  great  figure  in  the  native  life,  I  believe,  but  now 
more  than  ever." 

"Why's  that?" 

"Oh,  battles  are  over  and  blood-feuds  are  done,  but  the 
need  for  a  story-teller  abides.  In  most  villages  he  is  a  bigger 
man  than  the  chief — they're  all  *ol'  chiefs,'  the  few  that  are 
left — and  when  they  die  there  will  be  no  more.  So  the  tribal 
story-teller  comes  to  be  the  most  important  character" — the 
Jesuit  smiled  in  that  shrewd  and  gentle  way  of  his — "that  is, 
of  course,  after  the  Shaman,  as  the  Russians  call  him,  the  medi 
cine-man,  who  is  a  teller  of  stories,  too,  in  his  more  circum 
scribed  fashion.  But  it's  the  Story-teller  who  helps  his  people 
through  the  long  winter — helps  them  to  face  the  terrible  new 
enemies,  epidemic  disease  and  famine.  He  has  always  been 
their  best  defence  against  that  age-old  dread  they  all  have  of 
the  dark.  Yes,  no  one  better  able  to  send  such  foes  flying  than 
Yagorsha  of  Pymeut.  Still,  Nicholas  is  a  good  second." 

The  Prince  of  Pymeut  shook  his  head. 

"Tell  them  'The  White  Crow's  Last  Flight,'  "  urged  the 
priest. 

But  Nicholas  was  not  in  the  vein,  and  when  they  all  urged 
him  overmuch,  he,  in  self-defence,  pulled  a  knife  out  of  his 
pocket  and  a  bit  of  walrus  ivory  about  the  size  of  his  thumb, 
and  fell  to  carving. 

;What  you  makin'?" 

^Button,"  says  Nicholas;  "me  heap  hurry  get  him  done." 

"It  looks  more  like  a  bird  than  a  button,"  remarked  the  Boy. 

"Him  bird — him  button,"  replied  the  imperturbable  one. 

76 


THE    BLOW-OUT 

"Half  the  folk-lore  of  the  North  has  to  do  with  the  crow 
(or  raven),"  the  priest  went  on.  "Seeing  Kaviak's  feather 
reminded  me  of  a  native  cradle-song  that's  a  kind  of  a  story, 
too.  It's  been  roughly  translated." 

"Can  you  say  it?" 

"I  used  to  know  how  it  went." 

He  began  in  a  deep  voice: 

"'The  wind  blows  over  the  Yukon. 

My  husband  hunts  deer  on  the  Koyukun  mountains. 
Ahmi,  ahmi,  sleep,  little  one. 

There  is  no  wood  for  the  fire, 

The  stone-axe  is  broken,  my  husband  carries  the  other. 

Where  is  the  soul  of  the  sun  ?    Hid  in  the  dam  of  the  beaver,  waiting  the 

spring-time. 
Ahmi,  ahmi,  sleep  little  one,  wake  not! 

Look  not  for  ukali,  old  woman. 

Long  since  the  cache  was  emptied,  the  crow  lights  no  more  on  the  ridge 

pole. 

Long  since,  my  husband  departed.     Why  does  he  wait  in  the  mountains  ? 
Ahmi,  ahmi,  sleep  little  one,  softly. 

Where,  where,  where  is  my  own? 

Does  he  lie  starving  on  the  hillside?  Why  does  he  linger? 
Comes  he  not  soon  I  must  seek  him  among  the  mountains. 
Ahmi,  ahmi,  little  one,  sleep  sound. 

Hush!  hush!  hush!     The  crow  cometh  laughing. 
Red  is  his  beak,  his  eyes  glisten,  the  false  one!        f 
"Thanks  for  a  good  meal  to  Kuskokala  the  Shaman — 
On  the  far  mountain  quietly  lieth  your  husband." 
Ahmi,  ahmi,  sleep  little  one,  wake  not. 

"Twenty  deers'  tongues  tied  to  the  pack  on  his  shoulders; 
Not  a  tongue  in  his  mouth  to  call  to  his  wife  with. 
Wolves,  foxes,  and  ravens  are  tearing  and  fighting  for  morsels. 
Tough  and  hard  are  the  sinews;  not  so  the  child  in  your  bosom." 
Ahmi,  ahmi,  sleep  little  one,  wake  not! 

Over  the  mountain  slowly  staggers  the  hunter. 
Two  bucks'  thighs  on  his  shoulders. 
Twenty  deers'  tongues  in  his  belt. 
"Go,  gather  wood,  kindle  a  fire,  old  woman!" 
Off  flew  the  crow — liar,  cheat  and  deceiver. 
Wake,  oh  sleeper,  awake!  welcome  your  father! 

He  brings  you  back  fat,  marrow,  venison  fresh  from  the  mountain 
Tired  and  worn,  yet  he's  carved  you  a  toy  of  the  deer's  horn, 
While  he  was  sitting  and  waiting  long  for  the  deer  on  the  hillside. 
Wake!  see  the  crow!  hiding  himself  from  the  arrow; 
Wake,  little  one,  wake!  here  is  your  father  safe  home.'" 

77 


THE    MAGNETIC   NORTH 

"Who's  'Kuskokala  the  Shaman'?"  the  Boy  inquired. 

"Ah,  better  ask  Nicholas,"  answered  the  priest. 

But  Nicholas  was  absorbed  in  his  carving. 

Again  Mr.  O'Flynn  obliged,  roaring  with  great  satisfaction: 

'  '  '  I'm  a  stout  rovin'  blade,  and  what  matther  my  name, 
For  I  ahlways  wa.s  wild,  an'  I'll  niver  be  tame; 
An'  I'll  kiss  putty  gurrls  wheriver  I  go, 
An'  what's  that  to  annyone  whether  or  no. 

Chorus. 

"'Ogedashin,  den  thashin,  come,  boys!  let  us  drink; 
'Tis  madness  to  sorra,  'tis  folly  to  think. 
For  we're  ahl  jolly  fellows  wheriver  we  go  — 
Ogedashin,  den  thashin,  na  boneen  sheen  lol" 

Potts  was  called  on.  No,  he  couldn't  sing,  but  he  could 
show  them  a  trick  or  two.  And  with  his  grimy  euchre-deck  he 
kept  his  word,  showing  that  he  was  not  the  mere  handy-man, 
but  the  magician  of  the  party.  The  natives,  who  know  the 
cards  as  we  know  our  A  B  C's,  were  enthralled,  and  began  to 
look  upon  Potts  as  a  creature  of  more  than  mortal  skill. 

Again  the  Boy  pressed  Nicholas  to  dance. 

"No,  no;"  and  under  his  breath:  "You  come  Pymeut." 

Meanwhile,  O'Flynn,  hugging  the  pleasant  consciousness 
that  he  had  distinguished  himself  —  his  pardner,  too  —  com 
plained  loudly  that  the  only  contribution  Mac  or  the  Boy  had 
made  was  to  kick  up  a  row.  What  steps  were  they  going  to 
take  to  retrieve  their  characters  and  minister  to  the  public 
entertainment  ? 

"I've  supplied  the  decorations,"  said  Mac  in  a  final  tone. 
Well,  and  the  Bhoy?    What  good  arre  ye,  annyway?" 
Hard   to   say,"   said   the   person   addressed  ;   but,   thinking 
hard:  "Would  you  like  to  see  me  wag  my  ears?"     Some  lan 
guid  interest  was  manifested  in  this  accomplishment,  but  it  fell 
rather  flat  after  Potts'  splendid  achievements  with  the  euchre- 
deck. 

"No,  ye  ain't  good  fur  much  as  an  enthertainer,"  said 
O'Flynn  frankly. 

Kaviak  had  begun  to  cry  for  more  punch,  and  Mac  was 
evidently  growing  a  good  deal  perplexed  as  to  the  further  treat 
ment  for  his  patient. 

"Did  ye  be  tellin'  some  wan,  Father,  that  when  ye  found 
that  Esquimer  he  had  grass  stuffed  in  his  mouth?  Sure,  he'll 
be  missin'  that  grass.  Ram  somethin'  down  his  throat." 

78 


" 


THE    BLOW-OUT 

"Was  it  done  to  shorten  his  sufferings?"  the  Colonel  asked 
in  an  undertone. 

"No,"  answered  the  priest  in  the  same  low  voice;  "if  they 
listen  long  to  the  dying,  the  cry  gets  fixed  in  their  imagination, 
and  they  hear  it  after  the  death,  and  think  the  spirit  haunts 
the  place.  Their  fear  and  horror  of  the  dead  is  beyond  belief. 
They'll  turn  a  dying  man  out  of  his  own  house,  and  not  by 
the  door,  but  through  a  hole  in  the  roof.  Or  they  pull  out  a 
log  to  make  an  opening,  closing  it  up  quick,  so  the  spirit  won't 
find  his  way  back." 

Kaviak  continued  to  lament. 

"Sorry  we  can't  offer  you  some  blubber,  Kaviak." 

'  'Tain't  that  he's  missin' ;  he's  got  an  inexhaustible  store  of 
his  own.  His  mistake  is  offerin'  it  to  us." 

"I  know  what's  the  matter  with  that  little  shaver,"  said  the 
Boy.  "He  hasn't  got  any  stool,  and  you  keep  him  standin'  on 
those  legs  of  his  like  matches." 

"Let  him  sit  on  the  buffalo-skin  there,"  said  Mac  gruffly. 

"Don't  you  s'pose  he's  thought  o'  the  buffalo-skin?  But 
he'd  hate  it.  A  little  fella  likes  to  be  up  where  he  can  sec 
what's  goin'  on.  He'd  feel  as  lost  'way  down  there  on  the 
buffalo  as  a  puppy  in  a  corn-brake." 

The  Boy  was  standing  up,  looking  round. 

"I  know.  Elephas!  come  along,  Jimmie!"  In  spite  of  re 
monstrance,  they  rushed  to  the  door  and  dragged  in  the  "fossle." 
When  Nicholas  and  his  friends  realised  what  was  happening, 
they  got  up  grunting  and  protesting.  "Lend  a  hand,  Andrew," 
the  Boy  called  to  the  man  nearest. 

"No — no!"  objected  the  true  son  of  the  Church,  with  un 
common  fervour. 

"You,  then,  Nicholas." 

"Oo,  ha,  oof    No  touch!    No  touch!" 

"What's  up?    You  don't  know  what  this  is." 

"Huh !  Nicholas  know  plenty  well.  Nicholas  no  touch  bones 
of  dead  devils." 

This  view  of  the  "fossle"  so  delighted  the  company  that, 
acting  on  a  sudden  impulse,  they  pushed  the  punch-bowl  out 
of  the  way,  and,  with  a  whoop,  hoisted  the  huge  thing  on  the 
table.  Then  the  Boy  seized  the  whimpering  Kaviak,  and  set 
him  high  on  the  throne.  So  surprised  was  the  topmost  Spissi- 
men  that  he  was  as  quiet  for  a  moment  as  the  one  underneath 
him,  staring  about,  blinking.  Then,  looking  down  at  Mac's 

79 


THE    MAGNETIC    NORTH 

punch-cup,  he  remembered  his  grievance,  and  took  up  the  wail 
where  he  had  left  it  off. 

"Nuh,  nuh !  don't  you  do  that,"  said  the  Boy  with  startling 
suddenness.  "If  you  make  that  noise,  I'll  have  to  make  a 
worse  one.  If  you  cry,  Kaviak,  I'll  have  to  sing.  Hmt,  hmt! 
don't  you  do  it."  And  as  Kaviak,  in  spite  of  instructions,  be 
gan  to  bawl,  the  Boy  began  to  do  a  plantation  jig,  crooning 
monotonously : 

"  'Grashoppah  setfn  on  de  swee>  p'tater  vine, 
Swee'  p'tater  vine,  swee'  p'tater  vine  ; 
Grasshoppah '  " 

He  stopped  as  suddenly  as  he'd  begun.  "Now,  will  you  be 
good?" 

Kaviak  drew  a  breath  with  a  catch  in  it,  looked  round,  and 
began  as  firmly  as  ever: 

"Weh!— eh!— eh!" 

"Sh — sh!"  The  Boy  clapped  his  hands,  and  lugubriously 
intoned : 

"  'Dey's  de  badger  and  de  bah, 
En  de  funny  lit  hah, 
En  de  active  HI  flea. 
En  de  lit  armadillah 
Dat  sleeps  widouter  pillah, 
An  dey  all  gottah  mate  but  me — ee — eel9  ' 

Weh — eh — eh!"  and  he  joined  in  Kaviak's  lament.  This  was 
intrusive  of  the  Boy,  and  Kaviak  was  offended.  He  sat  stiffly 
on  his  throne,  looking  most  disgusted,  albeit  silenced,  for  the 
moment. 

"Farva!"  Kaviak  gasped. 

"Say,  do  a  nigger  breakdown,"  solicited  Potts. 

"Ain't  room;  besides,  I  can't  do  it  with  blisters." 

They  did  the  impossible — they  made  room,  and  turned  back 
the  buffalo-skin.  Only  the  big  Colonel,  who  was  most  in  the 
way  of  all,  sat,  not  stirring,  staring  in  the  fire.  Such  a  look 
on  the  absent,  tender  face  as  the  great  masters,  the  divinest 
poets  cannot  often  summon,  but  which  comes  at  the  call  of 
some  foolish  old  nursery  jingle,  some  fragment  of  half -forgotten 
folk-lore,  heard  when  the  world  was  young — when  all  hearing 
was  music,  when  all  sight  was  "pictures,"  when  every  sense 
brought  marvels  that  seemed  the  everyday  way  of  the  wonder 
ful,  wonderful  world. 

80 


THE    BLOW-OUT 

For  an  obvious  reason  it  is  not  through  the  utterances  of 
the  greatest  that  the  child  receives  his  first  intimations  of  the 
beauty  and  the  mystery  of  things.  These  come  in  lowly  guise 
with  familiar  everyday  voices,  but  their  eloquence  has  the  in 
communicable  grace  of  infancy,  the  promise  of  the  first  dawn, 
the  menace  of  the  first  night. 

"Do  you  remember  the  thing  about  the  screech-owl  and  the 
weather  signs?"  said  the  Colonel,  roused  at  last  by  the  jig  on 
his  toes  and  the  rattle  of  improvised  "bones"  almost  in  his  face. 

"Reckon  I  do,  honey,"  said  the  Boy,  his  feet  still  flying  and 
flapping  on  the  hard  earthen  floor. 

* '  '  Wen  de  screech-owl  light  on  de  gable  en* 
En  hotter,  Who-ool  oh-ohf  " 

He  danced  up  and  hooted  in  Kaviak's  face. 

"'Den  yd1  bettah  keep  yo  eyeball  peel, 
Kase  'e  bring  bad  luck  f  yo' . 
Oh-oh!  oh-ohf  " 

Then,  sinking  his  voice,  dancing  slowly,  and  glancing  anxiously 
under  the  table: 

* '  '  Wen  de  ole  black  cat  widdee  yatta  eyes 
Slink  round  like  she  atterah  mouse, 
Den  yo'  bettah  take  keer  yo'self  en  frien's, 
Kase  deys  sholy  a  witch  en  de  house.'  " 

An  awful  pause,  a  shiver,  and  a  quick  change  of  scene,  indi 
cated  by  a  gurgling  whoop,  ending  in  a  quacking: 

"  'Wen  de  puddle-duck  >e  leave  de  port, 
En  start  f  comb  e  Redder, 
Den  yo'  bettah  take  yo'  omberel, 
Kase  deys  gwine  tubbee  wet  wedder. '  " 

"Now  comes  the  speckly  rooster,"  the  Colonel  prompted. 
The  Boy  crowed  long  and  loud: 

'"Efter  ole  wife  rooster  widder  speckly  tail 
Commer  crowin'  be /oh  de  do', 
En  yo  got  some  comp'ny  a'readyf 
Yo's  gwinter  have  some  mo1.'  " 

Then  he  grunted,  and  went  on  all  fours.    "Kaviak!"  he  called, 
"you  take  warnin' 

' ' '  Wen  yo'  see  a  pig  agoin'  along '  " 

81 


THE    MAGNETIC   NORTH 

Look  here:  Kaviak's  never  seen  a  pig!    I  call  it  a  shame. 

" '  Wen  yd1  see  a  pig  again'  along 
Widder  straw  en  de  sider  'is  mouf, 
If  II  be  a  tuhble  winter, 
En  yo'  bettuh  move  down  Sou}.'  " 

He  jumped  up  and  dashed  into  a  breakdown,  clattering  the 
bones,  and  screeching: 

' ' '  Squirl  he  got  a  bushy  tail. 
Possum's  tail  am  bah, 
Raccoon's  tail  am  ringed  all  rounr — 
Touch  him  ef  yo  dahl 
Rabbit  got  no  tail  at  all, 
Cep  a  little  bit  o'  bunch  o'  hah. '  " 

The  group  on  the  floor,  undoubtedly,  liked  that  part  of  the 
entertainment  that  involved  the  breakdown,  infinitely  the  best 
of  all,  but  simultaneously,  at  its  wildest  moment,  they  all 
turned  their  heads  to  the  door.  Mac  noticed  the  movement, 
listened,  and  then  got  up,  lifted  the  latch,  and  cautiously  looked 
out.  The  Boy  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  sky  over  Mac's  shoulder. 

"Jimminy  Christmas!"  He  stopped,  nearly  breathless.  "It 
can't  be  a  fire.  Say,  boys!  they're  havin'  a  Blow-Out  up  in 
heaven." 

The  company  crowded  out.  The  sky  was  full  of  a  palpitant 
light.  An  Indian  appeared  from  round  the  stockade;  he  was 
still  staring  up  at  the  stone  chimney. 

"Are  we  on  fire?" 

"How-do."     He  handed  Father  Wills  a  piece  of  dirty  paper. 

"Hah!    Yes.    All  right.    Andrew!" 

Andrew  needed  no  more.  He  bustled  away  to  harness  the 
dogs.  The  white  men  were  staring  up  at  the  sky. 

"What's  goin'  on  in  heaven,  Father?  S'pose  you  call  this 
the  Aurora  Borealis — hey?" 

"Yes,"  said  the  priest;  "and  finer  than  we  often  get  it.  We 
are  not  far  enough  north  for  the  great  displays." 

He  went  in  to  put  on  his  parki. 

Mac,  after  looking  out,  had  shut  the  door  and  stayed  behind 
with  Kaviak. 

On  Father  Will's  return  Farva,  speaking  apparently  less  to 
the  priest  than  to  the  floor,  muttered:  "Better  let  him  stop 
where  he  is  till  his  cold's  better." 

The  Colonel  came  in. 

82 


THE    BLOW-OUT 

"Leave  the  child  here!"  ejaculated  the  priest. 

" till  he's  better  able  to  travel." 

"Why  not?"  said  the  Colonel  promptly. 

"Well,  it  would  be  a  kindness  to  keep  him  a  few  days.  I'll 
have  to  travel  fast  to-night." 

"Then  it's  settled."  Mac  bundled  Kaviak  into  the  Boy's 
bunk. 

When  the  others  were  ready  to  go  out  again,  Farva  caught 
up  his  fur  coat  and  went  along  with  them. 

The  dogs  were  not  quite  ready.  The  priest  was  standing  a 
little  absent-mindedly,  looking  up.  The  pale  green  streamers 
were  fringed  with  the  tenderest  rose  colour,  and  from  the 
corona  uniting  them  at  the  zenith,  they  shot  out  across  the 
heavens,  with  a  rapid  circular  and  lateral  motion,  paling  one 
moment,  flaring  up  again  the  next. 

"Wonder  what  makes  it,"  said  the  Colonel. 

"Electricity,"  Mac  snapped  out  promptly. 

The  priest  smiled. 

"One  mystery  for  another." 

He  turned  to  the  Boy,  and  they  went  on  together,  preceding 
the  others,  a  little,  on  the  way  down  the  trail  towards  the  river. 

"I  think  you  must  come  and  see  us  at  Holy  Cross — eh? 
Come  soon;"  and  then,  without  waiting  for  an  answer:  "The 
Indians  think  these  flitting  lights  are  the  souls  of  the  dead  at 
play.  But  Yagorsha  says  that  long  ago  a  great  chief  lived  in 
the  North  who  was  a  mighty  hunter.  It  was  always  summer 
up  here  then,  and  the  big  chief  chased  the  big  game  from  one 
end  of  the  year  to  another,  from  mountain  to  mountain  and 
from  river  to  sea.  He  killed  the  biggest  moose  with  a  blow 
of  his  fist,  and  caught  whales  with  his  crooked  thumb  for  a 
hook.  One  long  day  in  summer  he'd  had  a  tremendous  chase 
after  a  wonderful  bird,  and  he  came  home  without  it,  dead- 
beat  and  out  of  temper.  He  lay  down  to  rest,  but  the  sunlight 
never  winked,  and  the  unending  glare  maddened  him.  He 
rolled,  and  tossed,  and  roared,  as  only  the  Yukon  roars  when 
the  ice  rushes  down  to  the  sea.  But  he  couldn't  sleep.  Then 
in  an  awful  fury  he  got  up,  seized  the  day  in  his  great  hands, 
tore  it  into  little  bits,  and  tossed  them  high  in  the  air.  So  it 
was  dark.  And  winter  fell  on  the  world  for  the  first  time. 
During  months  and  months,  just  to  punish  this  great  crime, 
there  was  no  bright  sunshine ;  but  often  in  the  long  night,  while 
the  chief  was  wearying  for  summer  to  come  again,  he'd  be 

83 


THE    MAGNETIC   NORTH 

tantalised  by  these  little  bits  of  the  broken  day  that  flickered 
in  the  sky.  Coming,  Andrew?"  he  called  back. 

The  others  trooped  down-hill,  dogs,  sleds,  and  all.  There 
was  a  great  hand-shaking  and  good-byeing. 

Nicholas  whispered: 

"You  come  Pymeut?" 

"I  should  just  pretty  nearly  think  I  would." 

"You  dance  heap  good.  Buttons  no  all  done."  He  put  four 
little  ivory  crows  into  the  Boy's  hands.  They  were  rudely  but 
cleverly  carved,  with  eyes  outlined  in  ink,  and  supplied  under 
the  breast  with  a  neat  inward-cut  shank. 

"Mighty  fine!"  The  Boy  examined  them  by  the  strange 
glow  that  brightened  in  the  sky. 

"You  keep." 

"Oh  no,  can't  do  that." 

"Yes/"  Nicholas  spoke  peremptorily.  "Yukon  men  have 
big  feast,  must  bring  present.  Me  no  got  reindeer,  me  got 
button."  He  grinned.  "Goo'-bye."  And  the  last  of  the  guests 
went  his  way. 


It  was  only  habit  that  kept  the  Colonel  toasting  by  the  fire 
before  he  turned  in,  for  the  cabin  was  as  warm  to-night  as  the 
South  in  mid-summer. 

: ' '  Grasshoppah  setfn  on  a  swee'  p'taier  vine,' " 

the  Boy  droned  sleepily  as  he  untied  the  leathern  thongs  that 
kept  up  his  muckluck  legs — 

"'Swee'  p'tater  vine,  swee'  p'ta '" 

"All  those  othahs" — the  Colonel  waved  a  hand  in  the  direc 
tion  of  Pymeut — "I  think  we  dreamed  'em,  Boy.  You  and 
me  playing  the  Big  Game  with  Fohtune.  Foolishness!  Klon- 
dyke?  Yoh  crazy.  Tell  me  the  river's  hard  as  iron  and  the 
snow's  up  to  the  windah?  Don'  b'lieve  a  wo'd  of  it.  We're 
on  some  plantation,  Boy,  down  South,  in  the  niggah  quawtaws." 

The  Boy  was  turning  back  the  covers,  and  balancing  a  mo 
ment  on  the  side  of  the  bunk. 

"  'Sett'n  on  a  swee'  p'tater  vine,  swee'  p'ta '  " 


THE    BLOW-OUT 

"Great  Caesar's  ghost!"  He  jumped  up,  and  stood  staring 
down  at  the  sleeping  Kaviak. 

"Ah — a — didn't  you  know?  He's  been  left  behind  for  a 
few  days." 

"Yes,  I  can  see  he's  left  behind.  No,  Colonel,  I  reckon 
we're  in  the  Arctic  regions  all  right  when  it  comes  to  catchin' 
Esquimers  in  your  bed!" 

He  pulled  the  furs  over  Kaviak  and  himself,  and  curled 
down  to  sleep. 


85 


CHAPTER    V 

/ 

THE     SHAMAN. 

"For  my  part,  I  have  ever  believed  and  do  now  know,  that  there  are 
witches." — Religio  Medici. 

THE  Boy  had  hoped  to  go  to  Pymeut  the  next  day,  but 
his  feet  refused  to  carry  him.  Mac  took  a  diagram  and 
special  directions,  and  went  after  the  rest  of  elephas, 
conveying  the  few  clumsy  relics  home,  bit  by  bit,  with  a  devo 
tion  worthy  of  a  pious  pilgrim. 

For  three  days  the  Boy  growled  and  played  games  with 
Kaviak,  going  about  at  first  chiefly  on  hands  and  knees. 

On  the  fifth  day  after  the  Blow-Out,  "You  comin'  long  to 
Pymeut  this  mornin'?"  he  asked  the  Colonel. 

"What's  the  rush?" 

"Rush!  Good  Lord!  it's  'most  a  week  since  they  were  here. 
And  it's  stopped  snowin',  and  hasn't  thought  of  sleetin'  yet  or 
anything  else  rambunksious.  Come  on,  Colonel." 

But  Father  Wills  had  shown  the  Colonel  the  piece  of  dirty 
paper  the  Indian  had  brought  on  the  night  of  the  Blow-Out. 

"Trouble  threatened.  Pymeuts  think  old  chief  dying  not  of 
consumption,  but  of  a  devil.  They've  sent  a  dog-team  to 
bring  the  Shaman  down  over  the  ice.  Come  quickly. — PAUL.'" 

"Reckon  we'd  better  hold  our  horses  till  we  hear  from  Holy 
Cross." 

"Hear  what?" 

The  Colonel  didn't  answer,  but  the  Boy  didn't  wait  to  listen. 
He  swallowed  his  coffee  scalding  hot,  rolled  up  some  food  and 
stuff  for  trading,  in  a  light  reindeer-skin  blanket,  lashed  it 
packwise  on  his  back,  shouldered  his  gun,  and  made  off  before 
the  Trio  came  in  to  breakfast. 

The  first  sign  that  he  was  nearing  a  settlement,  was  the 
appearance  of  what  looked  like  sections  of  rude  wicker  fencing, 
set  up  here  and  there  in  the  river  and  frozen  fast  in  the  ice. 

86 


THE    SHAMAN 

High  on  the  bank  lay  one  of  the  long  cornucopia-shaped  basket 
fish-traps,  and  presently  he  caught  sight  of  something  in  the 
bleak  Arctic  landscape  that  made  his  heart  jump,  something 
that  to  Florida  eyes  looked  familiar. 

"Why,  if  it  doesn't  make  me  think  of  John  Fox's  cabin  on 
Cypress  Creek!"  he  said  to  himself,  formulating  an  impression 
that  had  vaguely  haunted  him  on  the  Lower  River  in  Sep 
tember;  wondering  if  the  Yukon  flooded  like  the  Caloosa- 
hatchee,  and  if  the  water  could  reach  as  far  up  as  all  that. 

He  stopped  to  have  a  good  look  at  this  first  one  of  the  Py- 
meut  caches,  for  this  modest  edifice,  like  a  Noah's  Ark  on  four 
legs,  was  not  a  habitation,  but  a  storehouse,  and  was  perched 
so  high,  not  for  fear  of  floods,  but  for  fear  of  dogs  and  mice. 
This  was  manifest  from  the  fact  that  there  were  fish-racks  and 
even  ighloos  much  nearer  the  river. 

The  Boy  stopped  and  hesitated;  it  was  a  sore  temptation  to 
climb  up  and  see  what  they  had  in  that  cache.  There  was 
an  inviting  plank  all  ready,  with  sticks  nailed  on  it  transversely 
to  prevent  the  feet  from  slipping.  But  the  Boy  stopped  at  the 
rude  ladder's  foot,  deciding  that  this  particular  mark  of  in 
terest  on  the  part  of  a  stranger  might  be  misinterpreted.  It 
would,  perhaps,  be  prudent  to  find  Nicholas  first  of  all.  But 
where  was  Nicholas? — where  was  anybody? 

The  scattered,  half-buried  huts  were  more  like  earth-mounds, 
snow-encrusted,  some  with  drift-logs  propped  against  the  front 
face  looking  riverwards. 

While  he  was  cogitating  how  to  effect  an  entrance  to  one  of 
these,  or  to  make  his  presence  known,  he  saw,  to  his  relief, 
the  back  of  a  solitary  Indian  going  in  the  direction  of  an 
ighloo  farther  up  the  river. 

"Hi,  hi !"  he  shouted,  and  as  the  figure  turned  he  made  signs. 
It  stopped. 

"How-do?"  the  Boy  called  out  when  he  got  nearer.  "You 
talk  English?" 

The  native  laughed.  A  flash  of  fine  teeth  and  sparkling 
eyes  lit  up  a  young,  good-looking  face.  This  boy  seemed  prom 
ising. 

"How  d'ye  do?    You  know  Nicholas?" 

"Yes." 

The  laugh  was  even  gayer.  It  seemed  to  be  a  capital  joke  to 
know  Nicholas. 

"Where  is  he?" 

87 


THE    MAGNETIC   NORTH 

The  figure  turned  and  pointed,  and  then:  "Come.  I  show 
you." 

This  was  a  more  highly  educated  person  than  Nicholas, 
thought  the  visitor,  remarking  the  use  of  the  nominative  scorned 
of  the  Prince. 

They  walked  on  to  the  biggest  of  the  underground  dwellings. 

"Is  this  where  the  King  hangs  out?  Nicholas'  father  lives 
here?" 

"No.     This  is  the  Kazhga." 

"Oh,  the  Kachime.    Ain't  you  comin'  in  ?" 

"Oh  no." 

"Why?" 

His  guide  had  a  fit  of  laughter,  and  then  turned  to  go. 

"Say,  what's  your  name?" 

The  answer  sounded  like  "Muckluck." 

And  just  then  Nicholas  crawled  out  of  the  tunnel-like  open 
ing  leading  into  the  council-house.  He  jumped  up,  beaming 
at  the  sight  of  his  friend. 

"Say,  Nicholas,  who's  this  fella  that's  always  laughing,  no 
matter  what  you  say  ?  Calls  himself  'Muckluck/  " 

The  individual  referred  to  gave  way  to  another  spasm  of 
merriment,  which  infected  Nicholas. 

"My  sister — this  one,"  he  explained. 

"Oh-h!"  The  Boy  joined  in  the  laugh,  and  pulled  off  his 
Arctic  cap  with  a  bow  borrowed  straight  from  the  Colonel. 

"Princess  Muckluck,  I'm  proud  to  know  you." 

"Name  no  Muckluck,"  began  Nicholas;  "name  Mahk " 

"Mac?  Nonsense!  Mac's  a  man's  name — she's  Princess 
Muckluck.  Only,  how's  a  fella  to  tell,  when  you  dress  her 
like  a  man?" 

The  Princess  still  giggled,  while  her  brother  explained. 

"No  like  man.  See?"  He  showed  how  the  skirt  of  her 
deerskin  parki,  reaching,  like  her  brother's,  a  little  below 
the  knee,  was  shaped  round  in  front,  and  Nicholas's  own — 
all  men's  parkis  were  cut  straight  across. 

"I  see.     How's  your  father?" 

Nicholas  looked  grave;  even  Princess  Muckluck  stopped 
laughing. 

"Come,"  said  Nicholas,  and  the  Boy  followed  him  on  all 
fours  into  the  Kachime. 

Entering  on  his  stomach,  he  found  himself  in  a  room  about 
sixteen  by  twenty  feet,  two-thirds  underground,  log-walls 

88 


THE    SHAMAN 

chinked  with  moss,  a  roof  of  poles  sloping  upwards,  tent-like, 
but  leaving  an  opening  in  the  middle  for  a  smoke-hole  some 
three  feet  square,  and  covered  at  present  by  a  piece  of  thin, 
translucent  skin.  With  the  sole  exception  of  the  smoke-hole, 
the  whole  thing  was  so  covered  with  earth,  and  capped  with 
snow,  that,  expecting  a  mere  cave,  one  was  surprised  at  the 
wood-lining  within.  The  Boy  was  still  more  surprised  at  the 
concentration,  there,  of  malignant  smells. 

He  gasped,  and  was  for  getting  out  again  as  fast  as  possible, 
when  the  bearskin  flap  fell  behind  him  over  the  Kachime  end 
of  the  entrance-tunnel. 

Through  the  tobacco-smoke  and  the  stifling  air  he  saw, 
vaguely,  a  grave  gathering  of  bucks  sitting,  or,  rather,  loung 
ing  and  squatting,  on  the  outer  edge  of  the  wide  sleeping-bench 
that  ran  all  round  the  room,  about  a  foot  and  a  half  from  the 
hewn-log  floor. 

Their  solemn,  intent  faces  were  lit  grotesquely  by  the  un 
certain  glow  of  two  seal-oil  lamps,  mounted  on  two  posts, 
planted  one  in  front  of  the  right  sleeping-bench,  the  other  on 
the  left. 

The  Boy  hesitated.  Was  it  possible  he  could  get  used  to 
the  atmosphere?  Certainly  it  was  warm  in  here,  though  there 
was  no  fire  that  he  could  see.  Nicholas  was  talking  away  very 
rapidly  to  the  half-dozen  grave  and  reverend  signiors,  they 
punctuating  his  discourse  with  occasional  grunts  and  a  well- 
nigh  continuous  coughing.  Nicholas  wound  up  in  English. 

"Me  tell  you:  he  heap  good  friend.  You  ketch  um  tobacco?" 
he  inquired  suddenly  of  his  guest.  Fortunately,  the  Boy  had 
remembered  to  "ketch"  that  essential,  and  his  little  offering  was 
laid  before  the  council-men.  More  grunts,  and  room  made 
for  the  visitor  on  the  sleeping-bench  next  the  post  that  sup 
ported  one  of  the  lamps,  a  clay  saucer  half-full  of  seal-oil,  in 
which  a  burning  wick  of  twisted  moss  gave  forth  a  powerful 
odour,  a  fair  amount  of  smoke,  and  a  faint  light. 

The  Boy  sat  down,  still  staring  about  him,  taking  note  of 
the  well-hewn  logs,  and  of  the  neat  attachment  of  the  timbers 
by  a  saddle-joint  at  the  four  corners  of  the  roof. 

"Who  built  this?"  he  inquired  of  Nicholas. 

"OF  father,  an'     ...     heap  ol'  men  gone  dead." 

"Gee!  Well,  whoever  did  it  was  on  to  his  job,"  he  said.  "I 
don't  seen  a  nail  in  the  whole  sheebang." 

"No,  no  nail." 

89 


THE    MAGNETIC   NORTH 

The  Boy  remembered  Nicholas's  sled,  and,  looking  again  at 
the  disproportionately  small  hands  of  the  men  about  him,  cor 
rected  his  first  impression  that  they  were  too  feminine  to  be 
good  for  much. 

A  dirty  old  fellow,  weak  and  sickly  in  appearance,  began  to 
talk  querulously.  All  the  others  listened  with  respect,  smoking 
and  making  inarticulate  noises  now  and  then.  When  that 
discourse  was  finished,  a  fresh  one  was  begun  by  yet  another 
coughing  councillor. 

''What's  it  all  about?"  the  Boy  asked. 

"Ol'  Chief  heap  sick,"  said  the  buck  on  the  Boy's  right. 

"Ol'  Chief,  Or  father,  b'long  me,"  Nicholas  observed  with 
pride. 

"Yes;  but  aren't  the  Holy  Cross  people  nursing  him?" 

"Brother  Paul  gone;  white  medicine  no  good." 

They  all  shook  their  heads  and  coughed  despairingly. 

"Then  try  s'm'  other — some  yella-brown,  Esquimaux  kind," 
hazarded  the  Boy  lightly,  hardly  noticing  what  he  was  saying 
till  he  found  nearly  all  the  eyes  of  the  company  fixed  intently 
upon  him.  Nicholas  was  translating,  and  it  was  clear  the  Boy 
had  created  a  sensation. 

"Father  Wills  no  like,"  said  one  buck  doubtfully.  "He 
make  cross-eyes  when  Shaman  come." 

"Oh  yes,  medicine-man,"  said  the  Boy,  following  the  narra 
tive  eagerly. 

"Shaman  go  way,"  volunteered  an  old  fellow  who  hitherto 
had  held  his  peace;  "all  get  sick" — he  coughed  painfully — 
"heap  Pymeuts  die." 

^"Father  Wills  come."  Nicholas  took  up  the  tale  afresh. 
"Shaman  come.  Father  Wills  heap  mad.  He  no  let  Shaman 
stay." 

"No;  him  say,  "Go!  plenty  quick,  plenty  far.  Hey,  you! 
Mush!" 

They  smoked  awhile  in  silence  broken  only  by  coughs. 

"Shaman  say,  "Yukon  Inua  plenty  mad." 

"Who  is  Yukon  Inua?    Where  does  he  live?" 

"Unner  Yukon  ice,"  whispered   Nicholas. 

"Oh,  the  river  spirit?    ...    Of  course." 

"Him  heap  strong.  Long  time" — he  motioned  back  into  the 
ages  with  one  slim  brown  hand — "fore  Holy  Cross  here,  Yukon 
Inua  take  good  care  Pymeuts." 

"No  tell  Father  Wills?" 

90 


THE   SHAMAN 


Then  in  a  low  guttural  voice:  "Shaman  come  again." 

"Gracious!     When?" 

"To-night." 

"Jiminny  Christmas!" 

They  sat  and  smoked  and  coughed.  By-and-by,  as  if  wish 
ing  thoroughly  to  justify  their  action,  Nicholas  resumed: 

"You  savvy,  ol'  rather  try  white  medicine  —  four  winter,  four 
summer.  No  good.  Ol'  father  say,  'Me  well  man?  Good 
friend  Holy  Cross,  good  friend  Russian  mission.  Me  ol'?  me 
sick?  Send  for  Shaman.'" 

The  entire  company  grunted  in  unison. 

"You  no  tell?"  Nicholas  added  with  recurrent  anxiety. 

"No,  no  ;  they  shan't  hear  through  me.    I'm  safe." 

Presently  they  all  got  up,  and  began  removing  and  setting 
back  the  hewn  logs  that  formed  the  middle  of  the  floor.  It 
then  appeared  that,  underneath,  was  an  excavation  about  two 
feet  deep.  In  the  centre,  within  a  circle  of  stones,  were  the 
charred  remains  of  a  fire,  and  here  they  proceeded  to  make 
another. 

As  soon  as  it  began  to  blaze,  Yagorsha  the  Story-teller  took 
the  cover  off  the  smoke-hole,  so  the  company  was  not  quite 
stifled. 

A  further  diversion  was  created  by  several  women  crawling 
in,  bringing  food  for  the  men-folk,  in  old  lard-cans  or  native 
wooden  kantaks.  These  vessels  they  deposited  by  the  fire,  and 
with  an  exchange  of  grunts  went  out  as  they  had  come. 

Nicholas  wouldn't  let  the  Boy  undo  his  pack. 

"No,  we  come  back,"  he  said,  adding  something  in  his  own 
tongue  to  the  company,  and  then  crawled  out,  followed  by  the 
Boy.  Their  progress  was  slow,  for  the  Boy's  "Canadian  web- 
feet"  had  been  left  in  the  Kachime,  and  he  sank  in  the  snow  at 
every  step.  Twice  in  the  dusk  he  stumbled  over  an  ighloo,  or 
a  sled,  or  some  sign  of  humanity,  and  asked  of  the  now  silent, 
preoccupied  Nicholas,  "Who  lives  here?"  The  answer  had 
been,  "Nobody;  all  dead." 

The  Boy  was  glad  to  see  approaching,  at  last,  a  human  figure. 
It  came  shambling  through  the  snow,  with  bent  head  and  sway 
ing,  jerking  gait,  looked  up  suddenly  and  sheered  off,  flitting 
uncertainly  onward,  in  the  dim  light,  like  a  frightened 
ghost. 

"Who  is  that?" 

91 


THE    MAGNETIC   NORTH 

"Shaman.  Him  see  in  dark  all  same  owl.  Him  know  you 
white  man." 

The  Boy  stared  after  him.  The  bent  figure  of  the  Shaman 
looked  like  a  huge  bat  flying  low,  hovering,  disappearing  into 
the  night. 

"Those  your  dogs  howling?"  the  visitor  asked,  thinking  that 
for  sheer  dismalness  Pymeut  would  be  hard  to  beat. 

Nicholas  stopped  suddenly  and  dropped  down;  the  ground 
seemed  to  open  and  swallow  him.  The  Boy  stooped  and  saw 
his  friend's  feet  disappearing  in  a  hole.  He  seized  one  of  them. 

"Hold  on;  wait  for  me!" 

Nicholas  kicked,  but  to  no  purpose;  he  could  make  only  such 
progress  as  his  guest  permitted. 

Presently  a  gleam.  Nicholas  had  thrust  away  the  flap  at  the 
tunnel's  end,  and  they  stood  in  the  house  of  the  Chief  of  the 
Pymeuts,  that  native  of  whom  Father  Wills  had  said,  "He  is 
the  richest  and  most  intelligent  man  of  his  tribe." 

The  single  room  seemed  very  small  after  the  spaciousness 
of  the  Kachime,  but  it  was  the  biggest  ighloo  in  the  settlement. 

A  fire  burnt  brightly  in  the  middle  of  the  earthen  floor,  and 
over  it  was  bending  Princess  Muckluck,  cooking  the  evening 
meal.  She  nodded,  and  her  white  teeth  shone  in  the  blaze. 
Over  in  the  corner,  wrapped  in  skins,  lay  a  man  on  the  floor 
groaning  faintly.  The  salmon,  toasting  on  sticks  over  wood 
coals,  smelt  very  appetising. 

"Why,  your  fish  are  whole.  Don't  you  clean  'em  first?" 
asked  the  visitor,  surprised  out  of  his  manners. 

"No,"  said  Nicholas;  "him  better  no  cut." 

They  sat  down  by  the  fire,  and  the  Princess  waited  on 
them.  The  Boy  discovered  that  it  was  perfectly  true.  Yukon 
salmon  broiled  in  their  skins  over  a  birch  fire  are  the  finest 
eating  in  the  world,  and  any  "other  way"  involves  a  loss  of 
flavour. 

He  was  introduced  for  the  first  time  to  the  delights  of  rein 
deer  "back-fat,"  and  found  even  that  not  so  bad. 

"You  are  lucky,  Nicholas,  to  have  a  sister — such  a  nice  one, 
too" — (the  Princess  giggled) — "to  keep  house  for  you." 

Nicholas  understood,  at  least,  that  politeness  was  being  of 
fered,  and  he  grinned. 

"I've  got  a  sister  myself.  I'll  show  you  her  picture  some  day. 
I  care  about  her  a  lot.  I've  come  up  here  to  make  a  pile  so 
that  we  can  buy  back  our  old  place  in  Florida." 

Q2 


THE    SHAMAN 

He  said  this  chiefly  to  the  Princess,  for  she  evidently  had 
profited  more  by  her  schooling,  and  understood  things  quite 
like  a  Christian. 

"Did  you  ever  eat  an  orange,  Princess?"  he  continued. 

"Kind  o'  fish?" 

"No,  fruit;  a  yella  ball  that  grows  on  a  tree." 

"Me  know,"  said  Nicholas;  "me  see  him  in  boxes  St.  Mich 
ael's.  Him  bully." 

"Yes.  Well,  we  had  a  lot  of  trees  all  full  of  those  yella 
balls,  and  we  used  to  eat  as  many  as  we  liked.  We  don't  have 
much  winter  down  where  I  live — summer  pretty  nearly  all  the 
time." 

"I'd  like  go  there,"  said  the  girl. 

"Well,  will  you  come  and  see  us,  Muckluck?  When  I've 
found  a  gold-mine  and  have  bought  back  the  Orange  Grove, 
my  sister  and  me  are  goin'  to  live  together,  like  you  and 
Nicholas." 

"She  look  like  you?" 

"No;  and  it's  funny,  too,  'cause  we're  twins." 

"Twins!     What's  twins?" 

"Two  people  born  at  the  same  time." 

"No!"  ejaculated  Nicholas. 

"Why,  yes,  and  they  always  care  a  heap  about  each  other 
when  they're  twins." 

But  Muckluck  stared  incredulously. 

"Two  at  the  same  time!"  she  exclaimed.  "It's  like  that, 
then,  in  your  country?" 

The  Boy  saw  not  astonishment  alone,  but  something  akin 
to  disgust  in  the  face  of  the  Princess.  He  felt,  vaguely,  he 
must  justify  his  twinship. 

"Of  course;  there's  nothing  strange  about  it;  it  happens 
quite  often." 

"Often?" 

"Yes;  people  are  very  much  pleased.  Once  in  a  while  there 
are  even  three " 

"All  at  the  same  time!"  Her  horror  turned  into  shrieks  of 
laughter.  "Why,  your  women  are  like  our  dogs!  Human 
beings  and  seals  never  have  more  than  one  at  a  time!" 

The  old  man  in  the  corner  began  to  moan  and  mutter  fever 
ishly.  Nicholas  went  to  him,  bent  down,  and  apparently  tried 
to  soothe  him.  Muckluck  gathered  up  the  supper-things  and 
set  them  aside. 

93 


THE    MAGNETIC   NORTH 

"You  were  at  the  Holy  Cross  school  ?"  asked  the  Boy. 

"Six  years — with  Mother  Aloysius  and  the  Sisters.  They 
very  good." 

"So  you're  a  Catholic,  then?" 

"Oh  yes." 

"You  speak  the  best  English  I've  heard  from  a  native." 

"I  love  Sister  Winifred.  I  want  to  go  back — unless" — she 
regarded  the  Boy  with  a  speculative  eye — "unless  I  go  your 
country." 

The  sick  man  began  to  talk  deliriously,  and  lifted  up  a  terri 
ble  old  face  with  fever-bright  eyes  glaring  through  wisps  of 
straight  gray  hair.  No  voice  but  his  was  heard  for  some  time 
in  the  ighloo,  then,  "I  fraid,"  said  Muckluck,  crouching  near 
the  fire,  but  with  head  turned  over  shoulder,  staring  at  the 
sick  man. 

"No  wonder,"  said  the  Boy,  thinking  such  an  apparition 
enough  to  frighten  anybody. 

"Nicholas  'fraid,  too,"  she  whispered,  "when  the  devil  talks." 

"The  devil?" 

"Yes.     Sh!     You  hear?" 

The  delirious  chatter  went  on,  rising  to  a  scream.  Nicholas 
came  hurrying  back  to  the  fire  with  a  look  of  terror  in  his  face. 

"Me  go  get  Shaman." 

"No;  he  come  soon."    Muckluck  clung  to  him. 

They  both  crouched  down  by  the  fire. 

"You  'fraid  he'll  die  before  the  Shaman  gets  here?" 

"Oh  no,"  said  Muckluck  soothingly,  but  her  face  belied  her 
words. 

The  sick  man  called  hoarsely.  Nicholas  got  him  some  water, 
and  propped  him  up  to  drink.  He  glared  over  the  cup  with 
wild  eyes,  his  teeth  chattering  against  the  tin.  The  Boy,  him 
self,  felt  a  creep  go  down  his  spine. 

Muckluck  moved  closer  to  him. 

"Mustn't  say  he  die,"  she  whispered.  "If  Nicholas  think  he 
die,  he  drag  him  out — leave  him  in  the  snow." 

"Never!" 

"Sh !"  she  made  him  a  sign  to  be  quiet.  The  rambling  fever- 
talk  went  on,  Nicholas  listening  fascinated.  "No  Pymeut," 
she^  whispered,  "like  live  in  ighloo  any  more  if  man  die  there." 

"You  mean,  if  they  know  a  person's  dying  they  haul  him  out 
o'  doors — and  leave  him  a  night  like  this?" 

"If  not,  how  get  him  out    .    .    .    after?" 

94 


THE    SHAMAN 

"Why,  carry  him  out." 

"Touch  him?  Touch  dead  man?"  She  shuddered.  "Oh, 
no.  Bad,  bad!  I  no  think  he  die,"  she  resumed,  raising  her 
voice.  But  Nicholas  rejoined  them,  silent,  looking  very  grave. 
Was  he  contemplating  turning  the  poor  old  fellow  out?  The 
Boy  sat  devising  schemes  to  prevent  the  barbarism  should  it 
come  to  that.  The  wind  had  risen;  it  was  evidently  going  to 
be  a  rough  night. 

With  imagination  full  of  sick  people  turned  out  to  perish, 
the  Boy  started  up  as  a  long  wail  came,  muffled,  but  keen  still 
with  anguish,  down  through  the  snow  and  the  earth,  by  way  of 
the  smoke-hole,  into  the  dim  little  room. 

"Oh,  Nicholas!  what  was  that?" 

"What?" 

"Wait!     Listen!     There,  that!     Why,  it's  a  child  crying." 

"No,  him  Chee." 

"Let's  go  and  bring  him  in." 

"Bring  dog  in  here?" 

"Dog!    That's  no  dog." 

"Yes,  him  dog;  him  my  Chee." 

"Making  a  human  noise  like  that?" 

Nicholas  nodded.  The  only  sounds  for  some  time  were  the 
doleful  lamenting  of  the  Mahlemeut  without,  and  the  ravings 
of  the  Pymeut  Chief  within. 

The  Boy  was  conscious  of  a  queer,  dream-like  feeling.  All 
this  had  been  going  on  up  here  for  ages.  It  had  been  like  this 
when  Columbus  came  over  the  sea.  All  the  world  had  changed 
since  then,  except  the  steadfast  North.  The  Boy  sat  up  sud 
denly,  and  rubbed  his  eyes.  With  that  faculty  on  the  part  of 
the  unlearned  that  one  is  tempted  to  call  "American,"  a  faculty 
for  assimilating  the  grave  conclusions  of  the  doctors,  and  im 
porting  them  light-heartedly  into  personal  experience,  he  realised 
that  what  met  his  eyes  here  in  Nicholas'  house  was  one  of  the 
oldest  pictures  humanity  has  presented.  This  was  what  was 
going  on  by  the  Yukon,  when  King  John,  beside  that  other 
river,  was  yielding  Magna  Charta  to  the  barons.  While  the 
Caesars  were  building  Rome  the  Pymeut  forefathers  were  build 
ing  just  such  ighloos  as  this.  While  Pheidias  wrought  his 
marbles,  the  men  up  here  carved  walrus-ivory,  and,  in  lieu  of 
Homer,  recited  "The  Crow's  Last  Flight"  and  "The  Legend 
of  the  Northern  Lights." 

Nicholas  had  risen  again,  his  mouth  set  hard,  his  small  hands 

95 


THE    MAGNETIC   NORTH 

shaking.  He  unrolled  an  old  reindeer-skin  full  of  holes,  and 
examined  it.  At  this  the  girl,  who  had  been  about  to  make 
up  the  fire,  threw  down  the  bit  of  driftwood  and  hid  her  face. 

The  sick  man  babbled  on. 

Faint  under  the  desolate  sound  another — sibilant,  clearer, 
uncannily  human.  Nicholas  had  heard,  too,  for  he  threw  down 
the  tattered  deerskin,  and  went  to  the  other  side  of  the  fire. 
Voices  in  the  tunnel.  Nicholas  held  back  the  flap  and  gravely 
waited  there,  till  one  Pymeut  after  another  crawled  in.  They 
were  the  men  the  Boy  had  seen  at  the  Kachime,  with  one  ex 
ception — a  vicious-looking  old  fellow,  thin,  wiry,  with  a  face 
like  a  smoked  chimpanzee  and  eyes  of  unearthly  brightness.  He 
was  given  the  best  place  by  the  fire,  and  held  his  brown  claws 
over  the  red  coals  while  the  others  were  finding  their  places. 

The  Boy,  feeling  he  would  need  an  interpreter,  signed  to 
Muckluck  to  come  and  sit  by  him.  Grave  as  a  judge  she  got 
up,  and  did  as  she  was  bid. 

"That  the  Shaman?"  whispered  the  Boy. 

She  nodded.  It  was  plain  that  this  apparition,  however 
hideous,  had  given  her  great  satisfaction. 

"Any  more  people  coming?" 

"Got  no  more  now  in  Pymeut." 

"Where  is  everybody?" 

"Some  sick,  some  dead." 

The  old  Chief  rambled  on,  but  not  so  noisily. 

"See,"  whispered  Muckluck,  "devil  'fraid  already.  He  begin 
to  speak  small." 

The  Shaman  never  once  looked  towards  the  sufferer  till  he 
himself  was  thoroughly  warm.  Even  then  he  withdrew  from 
the  genial  glow,  only  to  sit  back,  humped  together,  blinking, 
silent.  ^  The  Boy  began  to  feel  that,  if  he  did  finally  say  some 
thing  it  would  be  as  surprising  as  to  hear  an  aged  monkey 
break  into  articulate  speech. 

Nicholas  edged  towards  the  Shaman,  presenting  something 
in  a  birch-bark  dish. 

]| What's  that?" 

"A  deer's  tongue,"  whispered  Muckluck. 

The  Boy  remembered  the  Koyukun  song,  "Thanks  for  a 
good  meal  to  Kuskokala,  the  Shaman." 

Nicholas  seemed  to  be  haranguing  the  Shaman  deferentially, 
but  with  spirit.  He  pulled  out  from  the  bottom  of  his  father's 
bed  three  fine  marten-skins,  shook  them,  and  dangled  them 

96 


THE    SHAMAN 

before  the  Shaman.  They  produced  no  effect.  He  then  took 
a  box  of  matches  and  a  plug  of  the  Boy's  tobacco  out  of  his 
pocket,  and  held  the  lot  towards  the  Shaman,  seeming  to  say 
that  to  save  his  life  he  couldn't  rake  up  another  earthly  thing 
to  tempt  his  Shamanship.  Although  the  Shaman  took  the 
offerings  his  little  black  eyes  glittered  none  the  less  rapaciously, 
as  they  flew  swiftly  round  the  room,  falling  at  last  with  a 
vicious  snap  and  gleam  upon  the  Boy.  Then  it  was  that  for 
the  first  time  he  spoke. 

"Nuh!  nuh!"  interrupted  Muckluck,  chattering  volubly,  and 
evidently  commending  the  Boy  to  the  Shaman.  Several  of  the 
old  bucks  laughed. 

"He  say  Yukon  Inua  no  like  you." 

"He  think  white  men  bring  plague,  bring  devils." 

"Got  some  money?"  whispered  Muckluck. 

"Not  here." 

The  Boy  saw  the  moment  when  he  would  be  turned  out.  He 
plunged  his  hands  down  into  his  trousers  pockets  and  fished 
up  a  knife,  his  second-best  one,  fortunately. 

"Tell  him  I'm  all  right,  and  he  can  give  this  to  Yukon  Inua 
with  my  respects." 

Muckluck  explained  and  held  up  the  shining  object,  blades 
open,  corkscrew  curling  attractively  before  the  covetous  eyes 
of  the  Shaman.  When  he  could  endure  the  temptation  no 
longer  his  two  black  claws  shot  out,  but  Nicholas  intercepted 
the  much-envied  object,  while,  as  it  seemed,  he  drove  a  more 
advantageous  bargain.  Terms  finally  settled,  the  Shaman 
seized  the  knife,  shut  it,  secreted  it  with  a  final  grunt,  and 
stood  up. 

Everyone  made  way  for  him.  He  jerked  his  loosely-jointed 
body  over  to  the  sick  man,  lifted  the  seal-oil  lamp  with  his 
shaky  old  hands,  and  looked  at  the  patient  long  and  steadily. 
When  he  had  set  the  lamp  down  again,  with  a  grunt,  he  put 
his  black  thumb  on  the  wick  and  squeezed  out  the  light.  When 
he  came  back  to  the  fire,  which  had  burnt  low,  he  pulled  open 
his  parki  and  drew  out  an  ivory  wand,  and  a  long  eagle's 
feather  with  a  fluffy  white  tuft  of  some  sort  at  the  end.  He 
deposited  these  solemnly,  side  by  side,  on  the  ground,  about  two 
feet  apart. 

Turning  round  to  the  dying  fire,  he  took  a  stick,  and  with 
Nicholas's  help  gathered  the  ashes  up  and  laid  them  over  the 
smouldering  brands. 

97 


THE    MAGNETIC   NORTH 

The  ighloo  was  practically  dark.  No  one  dared  speak  save 
the  yet  unabashed  devil  in  the  sick  man,  who  muttered  angrily. 
It  was  curious  to  see  how  the  coughing  of  the  others,  which  in 
the  Kachime  had  been  practically  constant,  was  here  almost 
silenced.  Whether  this  was  achieved  through  awe  and  respect 
for  the  Shaman,  or  through  nervous  absorption  in  the  task  he 
had  undertaken,  who  shall  say? 

The  Boy  felt  rather  than  saw  that  the  Shaman  had  lain  down 
between  the  ivory  wand  and  the  eagle's  feather.  Each  man 
sat  as  still  as  death,  listening,  staring,  waiting. 

Presently  a  little  jet  of  flame  sprang  up  out  of  the  ashes. 
The  Shaman  lifted  his  head  angrily,  saw  it  was  no  human  hand 
that  had  dared  turn  on  the  light,  growled,  and  pulled  some 
thing  else  from  under  his  inexhaustible  parki.  The  Boy  peered 
curiously.  The  Shaman  seemed  to  be  shutting  out  the  offen 
sive  light  by  wrapping  himself  up  in  something,  head  and 
all. 

"What's  he  doing  now?"  the  Boy  ventured  to  whisper  under 
cover  of  the  devil's  sudden  loud  remonstrance,  the  sick  man 
at  this  point  breaking  into  ghastly  groans. 

"He  puts  on  the  Kamlayka.    Sh!" 

The  Shaman,  still  enveloped  head  and  body,  began  to  beat 
softly,  keeping  time  with  the  eagle's  feather.  You  could  fol 
low  the  faint  gleam  of  the  ivory  wand,  but  on  what  it  fell  with 
that  hollow  sound  no  eye  could  see.  Now,  at  intervals,  he 
uttered  a  cry,  a  deep  bass  danger-note,  singularly  unnerving. 
Someone  answered  in  a  higher  key,  and  they  kept  this  up  in  a 
kind  of  rude,  sharply-timed  duet,  till  one  by  one  the  whole 
group  of  natives  was  gathered  into  the  swing  of  it,  swept 
along  involuntarily,  it  would  seem,  by  some  magnetic  attrac 
tion  of  the  rhythm. 

"Ung  hi  yah!  ah-ha-yah!  yah-yah-yah!"  was  the  chorus  to 
that  deep,  recurrent  cry  of  the  Shaman.  Its  accompanying 
drum-note  was  muffled  like  far-off  thunder,  conjured  out  of 
the  earth  by  the  ivory  wand. 

Presently  a  scream  of  terror  from  the  bundle  of  skins  and 
bones  in  the  corner. 

"Ha!"  Muckluck  clasped  her  hands  and  rocked  back  and 
forth. 

"They'll  frighten  the  old  man  to  death  if  he's  conscious," 
said  the  Boy,  half  rising. 

She  pulled  him  down. 

98 


THE    SHAMAN 

"No,  no;  frighten  devil."  She  was  shaking  with  excitement 
and  with  ecstacy. 

The  sick  man  cried  aloud.  A  frenzy  seemed  to  seize  the 
Shaman.  He  raised  his  voice  in  a  series  of  blood-curdling 
shrieks,  then  dropped  it,  moaning,  whining,  then  bursting  sud 
denly  into  diabolic  laughter,  bellowing,  whispering,  ventrilo 
quising,  with  quite  extraordinary  skill.  The  dim  and  foetid 
cave  might  indeed  be  full  of  devils. 

If  the  hideous  outcry  slackened,  but  an  instant,  you  heard 
the  sick  man  raving  with  the  preternatural  strength  of  delirium, 
or  of  mad  resentment.  For  some  time  it  seemed  a  serious 
question  as  to  who  would  come  out  ahead.  Just  as  you  began  to 
feel  that  the  old  Chief  was  at  the  end  of  his  tether,  and  ready 
to  give  up  the  ghost,  the  Shaman,  rising  suddenly  with  a 
demoniac  yell,  flung  himself  down  on  the  floor  in  a  convulsion. 
His  body  writhed  horribly ;  he  kicked  and  snapped  and  quivered. 

The  Boy  was  for  shielding  Muckluck  from  the  crazy  fling 
ing  out  of  legs  and  arms;  but  she  leaned  over,  breathless,  to 
catch  what  words  might  escape  the  Shaman  during  the  fit, 
for  these  were  omens  of  deep  significance. 

When  at  last  the  convulsive  movements  quieted,  and  the 
Shaman  lay  like  one  dead,  except  for  an  occasional  faint  twitch, 
the  Boy  realised  for  the  first  time  that  the  sick  man,  too,  was 
dumb.  Dead?  The  only  sound  now  was  the  wind  up  in  the 
world  above.  Even  the  dog  was  still. 

The  silence  was  more  horrible  than  the  hell-let-loose  of  a 
few  minutes  before. 

The  dim  group  sat  there,  motionless,  under  the  spell  of  the 
stillness  even  more  than  they  had  been  under  the  spell  of  the 
noise.  At  last  a  queer,  indescribable  scratching  and  scraping 
came  up  out  of  the  bowels  of  the  earth. 

How  does  the  old  devil  manage  to  do  that?  thought  the 
Boy.  But  the  plain  truth  was  that  his  heart  was  in  his  mouth, 
for  the  sound  came  from  the  opposite  direction,  behind  the 
Boy,  and  not  near  the  Shaman  at  all.  It  grew  louder,  came 
nearer,  more  inexplicable,  more  awful.  He  felt  he  could  not 
bear  it  another  minute,  sprang  up,  and  stood  there,  tense, 
waiting  for  what  might  befall.  Were  all  the  others  dead, 
then? 

Not  a  sound  in  the  place,  only  that  indescribable  stirring  of 
something  in  the  solid  earth  under  his  feet. 

The  Shaman  had  his  knife.  A  ghastly  sensation  of  stifling 

99 


THE    MAGNETIC   NORTH 

came  over  the  Boy  as  he  thought  of  a  struggle  down  there 
under  the  earth  and  the  snow. 

On  came  the  horrible  underground  thing.  Desperately  the 
Boy  stirred  the  almost  extinct  embers  with  his  foot,  and  a  faint 
glow  fell  on  the  terror-frozen  faces  of  the  natives,  fell  on  the 
bear-skin  flap.  It  moved!  A  huge  hand  came  stealing  round. 
A  hand  ?  The  skeleton  of  a  hand — white,  ghastly,  with  fingers 
unimaginably  long.  No  mortal  in  Pymeut  had  a  hand  like 
that — no  mortal  in  all  the  world ! 

A  crisp,  smart  sound,  and  a  match  blazed.  A  tall,  lean 
figure  rose  up  from  behind  the  bear-skin  and  received  the  sud 
den  brightness  full  in  his  face,  pale  and  beautiful,  but  angry 
as  an  avenging  angel's.  For  an  instant  the  Boy  still  thought 
it  a  spectre,  the  delusion  of  a  bewildered  brain,  till  the  girl 
cried  out,  "Brother  Paul!"  and  fell  forward  on  the  floor, 
hiding  her  face  in  her  hands. 

"Light!  make  a  light!"  he  commanded.  Nicholas  got  up, 
dazed  but  obedient,  and  lit  the  seal-oil  lamp. 

The  voice  of  the  white  man,  the  call  for  light,  reached  the 
Shaman.  He  seemed  to  shiver  and  shrink  under  the  folds  of 
the  Kamlayka.  But  instead  of  getting  up  and  looking  his 
enemy  in  the  face,  he  wriggled  along  on  his  belly,  still  under 
cover  of  the  Kamlayka,  till  he  got  to  the  bear-skin,  pushed  it 
aside  with  a  motion  of  the  hooded  head,  and  crawled  out  like 
some  snaky  symbol  of  darkness  and  superstition  fleeing  before 
the  light. 

"Brother  Paul!"  sobbed  the  girl,  "don't,  don't  tell  Sister 
Winifred." 

He  took  no  notice  of  her,  bending  down  over  the  motionless 
bundle  in  the  corner. 

"You've  killed  him,  I  suppose?" 

"Brother  Paul "  began  Nicholas,  faltering. 

"Oh,  I  heard  the  pandemonium.  He  lifted  his  thin  white 
face  to  the  smoke-hole.  "It's  all  useless,  useless.  I  might  as 
well  go  and  leave  you  to  your  abominations.  But  instead,  go 
you,  all  of  you — go!"  He  flung  out  his  long  arms,  and  the 
group  broke  and  scuttled,  huddling  near  the  bear-skin,  fighting 
like  rats  to  get  out  faster  than  the  narrow  passage  permitted. 

The  Boy  turned  from  watching  the  instantaneous  flight,  the 
scuffle,  and  the  disappearance,  to  find  the  burning  eyes  of  the 
Jesuit  fixed  fascinated  on  his  face.  If  Brother  Paul  had  ap 
peared  as  a  spectre  in  the  ighloo,  it  was  plain  that  he  looked 

100 


THE    SHAMAN  ,  ,  : 

upon  the  white  face  present  at  the  diabolic  rite  as  dream  or 
devil.  The  Boy  stood  up.  The  lay-brother  started,  and  crossed 
himself. 

"In  Christ's  name,  what — who  are  you?" 

"I — a — I  come  from  the  white  camp  ten  miles  below." 

"And  you  were  here — you  allowed  this?  Ah-h!"  He  flung 
up  his  arms,  the  pale  lips  moved  convulsively,  but  no  sound 
came  forth. 

"I — you  think  I  ought  to  have  interfered?"  began  the  Boy. 

"I  think "  the  Brother  began  bitterly,  checked  himself, 

knelt  down,  and  felt  the  old  man's  pulse. 

Nicholas  at  the  bear-skin  was  making  the  Boy  signs  to  come. 

The  girl  was  sobbing  with  her  face  on  the  ground.  Again 
Nicholas  beckoned,  and  then  disappeared.  There  seemed  to  be 
nothing  to  do  but  to  follow  his  host.  When  the  bear-skin 
had  dropped  behind  the  Boy,  and  he  crawled  after  Nicholas 
along  the  dark  passage,  he  heard  the  muffled  voice  of  the  girl 
praying:  "Oh,  Mary,  Mother  of  God,  don't  let  him  tell 
Sister  Winifred." 


101 


CHAPTER  VI 

A   PENITENTIAL   JOURNEY 

".     .     .     Certain   London   parishes   still  receive   £12  per   annum   for 
fagots  to  burn  heretics." — JOHN  RICHARD  GREEN. 

THE  Boy  slept  that  night  in  the  Kachime  beside  a  very 
moody,  restless  host.  Yagorsha  dispensed  with  the  for 
mality  of  going  to  bed,  and  seemed  bent  on  doing  what 
he  could  to  keep  other  people  awake.  He  sat  monologuing 
under  the  seal  lamp  till  the  Boy  longed  to  throw  the  dish  of 
smouldering  oil  at  his  head.  But  strangely  enough,  when, 
through  sheer  fatigue,  his  voice  failed  and  his  chin  fell  on  his 
broad  chest,  a  lad  of  fourteen  or  so,  who  had  also  had  diffi 
culty  to  keep  awake,  would  jog  Yagorsha's  arm,  repeating  in 
terrogatively  the  last  phrase  used,  whereon  the  old  Story- 
Teller  would  rouse  himself  and  begin  afresh,  with  an  iteration 
of  the  previous  statement.  If  the  lad  failed  to  keep  him  going, 
one  or  other  of  the  natives  would  stir  uneasily,  lift  a  head 
from  under  his  deerskin,  and  remonstrate.  Yagorsha,  open 
ing  his  eyes  with  a  guilty  start,  would  go  on  with  the  yarn. 
When  morning  came,  and  the  others  waked,  Yagorsha  and 
the  lad  slept. 

Nicholas  and  all  the  rest  who  shared  the  bench  at  night, 
and  the  fire  in  the  morning,  seemed  desperately  depressed  and 
glum.  A  heavy  cloud  hung  over  Pymeut,  for  Pymeut  was  in 
disgrace. 

About  sunset  the  women  came  in  with  the  kantaks  and  the 
lard-cans.  Yagorsha  sat  up  and  rubbed  his  eyes.  He  listened 
eagerly,  while  the  others  questioned  the  women.  The  old 
Chief  wasn't  dead  at  all.  No,  he  was  much  better.  Brother 
Paul  had  been  about  to  all  the  house-bound  sick  people,  and 
given  everybody  medicine,  and  flour,  and  a  terrible  scolding. 
Oh  yes,  he  was  angrier  than  anybody  had  ever  been  before. 
Some  natives  from  the  school  at  Holy  Cross  were  coming  for 

102 


A   PENITENTIAL   JOURNEY 

him  to-morrow,  and  they  were  all  going  down  river  and  across 
the  southern  portage  to  the  branch  mission  at  Kuskoquim. 

"Down  river?    Sure?" 

Yes,  sure.  Brother  Paul  had  not  waited  to  come  with  those 
others,  being  so  anxious  to  bring  medicine  and  things  to  Ol' 
Chief  quick;  and  this  was  how  he  was  welcomed  back  to  the 
scene  of  his  labours.  A  Devil's  Dance  was  going  on!  That 
was  what  he  called  it. 

"You  savvy?"  said  Nicholas  to  his  guest.  "Brother  Paul 
go  plenty  soon.  You  wait." 

I'll  have  company  back  to  camp,  was  the  Boy's  first  thought, 
and  then — would  there  be  any  fun  in  that  after  all?  It  was 
plain  Brother  Paul  was  no  such  genial  companion  as  Father 
Wills. 

And  so  it  was  that  he  did  not  desert  Nicholas,  although 
Brother  Paul's  companions  failed  to  put  in  an  appearance  on 
the  following  morning.  However,  on  the  third  day  after  the 
incident  of  the  Shaman  (who  seemed  to  have  vanished  into  thin 
air),  Brother  Paul  shook  the  snow  of  Pymeut  from  his  feet, 
and  with  three  Indians  from  the  Holy  Cross  school  and  a 
dog-team,  he  disappeared  from  the  scene.  Not  till  he  had  been 
gone  some  time  did  Nicholas  venture  to  return  to  the  parental 
roof. 

They  found  Muckluck  subdued  but  smiling,  and  the  old 
man  astonishingly  better.  It  looked  almost  as  if  he  had  turned 
the  corner,  and  was  getting  well. 

There  was  certainly  something  very  like  magic  in  such  a 
recovery,  but  it  was  quickly  apparent  that  this  aspect  of  the 
case  was  not  what  occupied  Nicholas,  as  he  sat  regarding  his 
parent  with  a  keen  and  speculative  eye.  He  asked  him  some 
question,  and  they  discussed  the  point  volubly,  Muckluck  fol 
lowing  the  argument  with  close  attention.  Presently  it  seemed 
that  father  and  son  were  taking  the  guest  into  consideration. 
Muckluck  also  turned  to  him  now  and  then,  and  by-and-by 
she  said:  "I  think  he  go." 

"Go  where?" 

"Holy  Cross,"  said  the  old  man  eagerly. 

"Brother  Paul,"  Nicholas  explained.  "He  go  down  river. 
We  get  Holy  Cross — more  quick." 

"I  see.  Before  he  can  get  back.  But  why  do  you  want 
to  go?" 

"See  Father  Brachet." 

103 


THE   MAGNETIC   NORTH 

"Sister  Winifred  say:  'Always  tell  Father  Brachet;  then 
everything  all  right,'  "  contributed  Muckluck. 

"You  tell  Pymeut  belly  solly,"  the  old  Chief  said. 

"Nicholas  know  he  not  able  tell  all  like  white  man,"  Muck- 
luck  continued.  "Nicholas  say  you  good — hey?  you  good?" 

"Well — a — pretty  tollable,  thank  you." 

"You  go  with  Nicholas;  you  make  Father  Brachet  unner- 

stan' — forgive.  Tell  Sister  Winifred "  She  stopped, 

perplexed,  vaguely  distrustful  at  the  Boy's  chuckling. 

"You  think  we  can  explain  it  all  away,  hey?"  He  made  a 
gesture  of  happy  clearance.  "Shaman  and  everything,  hey?" 

"Me  no  can,"  returned  Nicholas,  with  engaging  modesty. 
"You "  He  conveyed  a  limitless  confidence. 

"Well,  I'll  be  jiggered  if  I  don't  try.     How  far  is  it?" 

"Go  slow — one  sleep." 

"Well,  we  won't  go  slow.  We've  got  to  do  penance.  When 
shall  we  start?" 

"Too  late  now.    Tomalla,"  said  the  OF  Chief. 

******* 

They  got  up  very  early — it  seemed  to  the  Boy  like  the  mid 
dle  of  the  night — stole  out  of  the  dark  Kachime,  and  hurried 
over  the  hard  crust  that  had  formed  on  the  last  fall  of  snow, 
down  the  bleak,  dim  slope  to  the  Ol'  Chief's,  where  they  were 
to  breakfast. 

Not  only  Muckluck  was  up  and  doing,  but  the  Ol'  Chief 
seemed  galvanised  into  unwonted  activity.  He  was  doddering 
about  between  his  bed  and  the  fire,  laying  out  the  most  im 
posing  parkis  and  fox-skins,  fur  blankets,  and  a  pair  of  seal 
skin  mittens,  all  of  which,  apparently,  he  had  had  secreted 
under  his  bed,  or  between  it  and  the  wall. 

They  made  a  sumptuous  breakfast  of  tea,  the  last  of  the 
bacon  the  Boy  had  brought,  and  slapjacks. 

The  Boy  kept  looking  from  time  to  time  at  the  display  of 
furs.  Father  Wills  was  right;  he  ought  to  buy  a  parki  with 
a  hood,  but  he  had  meant  to  have  the  priest's  advice,  or  Mac's, 
at  least,  before  investing.  Ol'  Chief  watching  him  surrep 
titiously,  and  seeing  he  was  no  nearer  making  an  offer,  felt  he 
should  have  some  encouragement.  He  picked  up  the  seal-skin 
mittens  and  held  them  out. 

"Present,"  said  Ol'  Chief.  "You  tell  Father  Brachet  us 
belly  solly." 

"Oh,  I'll  handle  him  without  gloves,"  said  the  Boy,  giving 

104 


A   PENITENTIAL   JOURNEY 

back  the  mittens.  But  Ol'  Chief  wouldn't  take  them.  He  was 
holding  up  the  smaller  of  the  two  parkis. 

"You  no  like?" 

"Oh,  very  nice." 

"You  no  buy?" 

"You  go  sleep  on  trail,"  said  Nicholas,  rising  briskly.  "You 
die,  no  parki." 

The  Boy  laughed  and  shook  his  head,  but  still  OF  Chief 
held  out  the  deer-skin  shirt,  and  caressed  the  wolf-fringe  of 
the  hood. 

"Him  cheap." 

"How  cheap?" 

"Twenty-fi'  dollah." 

"Don't  know  as  I  call  that  cheap." 

"Yes,"  said  Nicholas.     "St.  Michael,  him  fifty  dollah." 

The  Boy  looked  doubtful. 

"I  saw  a  parki  there  at  the  A.  C.  Store  about  like  this  for 
twenty." 

"A.  C.  parki,  peeluck,"  Nicholas  said  contemptuously.  Then 
patting  the  one  his  father  held  out,  "You  wear  him  fifty  win 
ter." 

"Lord  forbid!  Anyhow,  I've  only  got  about  twenty  dollars' 
worth  of  tobacco  and  stuff  along  with  me." 

"Me  come  white  camp,"  Nicholas  volunteered.  "Me  get 
more  fi'  dollah." 

"Oh,  will  you?  Now,  that's  very  kind  of  you."  But  Nicho 
las,  impervious  to  irony,  held  out  the  parki.  The  Boy  laughed, 
and  took  it.  Nicholas  stooped,  picked  up  the  fur  mittens,  and, 
laying  them  on  the  Boy's  arm,  reiterated  his  father's  "Present !" 
and  then  departed  to  the  Kachime  to  bring  down  the  Boy's 
pack. 

The  Princess  meanwhile  had  withdrawn  to  her  own  special 
corner,  where  in  the  daytime  appeared  only  a  roll  of  plaited 
mats,  and  a  little,  cheap,  old  hat-box,  which  she  evidently  prized 
most  of  all  she  had  in  the  world. 

"You  see?     Lock!1' 

The  Boy  expressed  surprise  and  admiration. 

"No!     Really!     I  call  that  fine." 

"I  got  present  for  Father  Brachet";  and  turning  over  the 
rags  and  nondescript  rubbish  of  the  hat-box,  she  produced  an 
object  whose  use  was  not  immediately  manifest.  A  section 
of  walrus  ivory  about  six  inches  long  had  been  cut  in  two. 

105 


THE    MAGNETIC   NORTH 

One  of  these  curved  halves  had  been  mounted  on  four  ivory 
legs.  In  the  upper  flat  side  had  been  stuck,  at  equal  distances 
from  the  two  ends  and  from  each  other,  two  delicate 
branches  of  notched  ivory,  standing  up  like  horns.  Between 
these  sat  an  ivory  mannikin,  about  three  inches  long,  with  a 
woeful  countenance  and  with  arms  held  out  like  one  beseech 
ing  mercy. 

"It's  fine,"  said  the  Boy,  "but — a — what's  it  for?  Just  look 
pretty?" 

"Wait,  I  show  you."  She  dived  into  the  hat-box,  and  fished 
up  a  bit  of  battered  pencil.  With  an  air  of  pride,  she  placed 
the  pencil  across  the  outstretched  hands  of  the  ivory  suppliant, 
asking  the  Boy  in  dumb-show,  was  not  this  a  pen-rest  that 
might  be  trusted  to  melt  the  heart  of  the  Holy  Father? 

"This  way,  too."  She  illustrated  how  anyone  embarrassed 
by  the  possession  of  more  than  one  pencil  could  range  them 
in  tiers  on  the  ivory  horns  above  the  head  of  the  Woeful 
One. 

"I  call  that  scrumptious!  And  he  looks  as  if  he  was  saying 
he  was  sorry  all  the  time." 

She  nodded,  delighted  that  the  Boy  comprehended  the  sub 
tle  symbolism. 

"One  more!"  she  said,  showing  her  dazzling  teeth.  Like 
a  child  playing  a  game,  she  half  shut  the  hat-box  and  hugged 
it  lovingly.  Then  with  eyes  sparkling,  slowly  the  small  hand 
crept  in — was  thrust  down  the  side  and  drew  out  with  a  rap 
turous  "Ha!"  a  gaudy  advertisement  card,  setting  forth  the 
advantages  of  smoking  "Kentucky  Leaf."  She  looked  at  it 
fondly.  Then  slowly,  regretfully,  all  the  fun  gone  now,  she 
passed  it  to  the  Boy. 

"For  Sister  Winifred !"  she  said,  like  one  who  braces  herself 
to  make  some  huge  renunciation.  "You  tell  her  I  send  with  my 
love,  and  I  always  say  my  prayers.  I  very  good.  Hey  ?  You 
tell  Sister  Winifred?" 

"Sure,"  said  the  Boy. 

The  OF  Chief  was  pulling  the  other  parki  over  his  head. 
Nicholas  reappeared  with  the  visitor's  effects.  Under  the 
Boy's  eyes,  he  calmly  confiscated  all  the  tea  and  tobacco.  But 
nothing  had  been  touched  in  the  owner's  absence. 

"Look  here:  just  leave  me  enough  tea  to  last  till  I  get  home. 
I'll  make  it  up  to  you." 

Nicholas,  after  some  reflection,  agreed.  Then  he  bustled 

106 


A    PENITENTIAL   JOURNEY 

about,  gathered  together  an  armful  of  things,  and  handed  the 
Boy  a  tea-kettle  and  an  axe. 

"You  bring — dogs  all  ready.     Mush!"  and  he  was  gone. 

To  the  Boy's  surprise,  while  he  and  Muckluck  were  getting 
the  food  and  presents  together,  the  lively  Ol'  Chief — so  lately 
dying — made  off,  in  a  fine  new  parki,  on  all  fours,  curious,  no 
doubt,  to  watch  the  preparations  without. 

But  not  a  bit  of  it.  The  Ol'  Chief's  was  a  more  intimate 
concern  in  the  expedition.  When  the  Boy  joined  him,  there 
he  was  sitting  up  in  Nicholas's  sled,  appallingly  emaciated,  but 
brisk  as  you  please,  ordering  the  disposition  of  the  axe  and 
rifle  along  either  side,  the  tea-kettle  and  grub  between  his  feet, 
showing  how  the  deer-skin  blankets  should  be  wrapped,  and 
especially  was  he  dictatorial  about  the  lashing  of  the  mahout. 

"How  far's  he  comin'?"  asked  the  Boy,  astonished. 

"All  the  way,"  said  Muckluck.     "He  want  to  be  sure" 

Several  bucks  came  running  down  from  the  Kachime,  and 
stood  about,  coughed  and  spat,  and  offered  assistance  or  ad 
vice.  When  at  last  Ol'  Chief  was  satisfied  with  the  way  the 
raw  walrus-hide  was  laced  and  lashed,  Nicholas  cracked  his 
whip  and  shouted,  "Mush!  God-damn!  Mush!" 

"Good-bye,  Princess.  We'll  take  care  of  your  father,  though 
I'm  sure  he  oughtn't  to  go." 

"Oh  yes,"  answered  Muckluck  confidently;  then  lower, 
"Shaman  make  all  well  quick.  Hey?  Goo'-bye." 

"Good-bye." 

"Don't  forget  tell  Sister  Winifred  I  say  my  p "     But 

the  Boy  had  to  run  to  keep  up  with  the  sled. 

For  some  time  he  kept  watching  the  Ol'  Chief  with  un 
abated  astonishment,  wondering  if  he'd  die  on  the  way.  But, 
after  all,  the  open-air  cure  was  tried  for  his  trouble  in  various 
other  parts  of  the  world — why  not  here? 

There  was  no  doubt  about  it,  Nicholas  had  a  capital  team 
of  dogs,  and  knew  how  to  drive  them.  Two-legged  folk  often 
had  to  trot  pretty  briskly  to  keep  up.  Pymeut  was  soon  out 
of  sight. 

"Nicholas,  what'll  you  take  for  a  couple  o'  your  dogs?" 

|'No  sell." 

"Pay  you  a  good   long  price/' 

||No  sell." 

"Well,  will  you  help  me  to  get  a  couple?" 

"Me  try";  but  he  spoke  dubiously. 

107 


THE    MAGNETIC   NORTH 

"What  do  they  cost?" 

"Good  leader  cost  hunder  and  fifty  in  St.  Michael." 

"You  don't  mean  dollahs?" 

"Mean  dollahs." 

"Come  off  the  roof!" 

But  Nicholas  seemed  to  think  there  was  no  need. 

"You  mean  that  if  I  offer  you  a  hundred  and  fifty  dollahs 
for  your  leader,  straight  off,  this  minute,  you  won't  take  it?" 

"No,  no  take,"  said  the  Prince,  stolidly. 

And  his  friend  reflected.  Nicholas  without  a  dog-team 
would  be  practically  a  prisoner  for  eight  months  of  the  year, 
and  not  only  that,  but  a  prisoner  in  danger  of  starving  to  death. 
After  all,  perhaps  a  dog-team  in  such  a  country  was  priceless, 
and  the  Ol'  Chief  was  travelling  in  truly  royal  style. 

However,  it  was  stinging  cold,  and  running  after  those  ex 
pensive  dogs  was  an  occupation  that  palled.  By-and-by,  "How 
much  is  your  sled  worth?"  he  asked  Ol'  Chief. 

"Six  sables,"  said  the  monarch. 

******* 

It  was  a  comfort  to  sight  a  settlement  off  there  on  the 
point. 

"What's  this  place?" 

"Fish-town." 

"Pymeuts  there?" 

"No,  all  gone.     Come  back  when  salmon  run." 

Not  a  creature  there,  as  Nicholas  had  foretold — a  place  built 
wilfully  on  the  most  exposed  point  possible,  bleak  beyond  belief. 
If  you  open  your  mouth  at  this  place  on  the  Yukon,  you  have 
to  swallow  a  hurricane.  The  Boy  choked,  turned  his  back 
to  spit  out  the  throttling  blast,  and  when  he  could  catch  his 
breath  inquired: 

"This  a  good  place  for  a  village?" 

"Bully.     Wind  come,  blow  muskeetah " 

Nicholas  signified  a  remote  destination  with  his  whip. 

"B'lieve  you!  This  kind  o'  thing  would  discourage  even  a 
mosquito." 

In  the  teeth  of  the  blast  they  went  past  the  Pymeut  Sum 
mer  Resort.  Unlike  Pymeut  proper,  its  cabins  were  built  en 
tirely  above  ground,  of  logs  unchinked,  its  roofs  of  watertight 
birch-bark. 

A  couple  of  hours  farther  on  Nicholas  permitted  a  halt  on 
the  edge  of  a  struggling  little  grove  of  dwarfed  cotton-wood. 

1 08 


A   PENITENTIAL   JOURNEY 

The  kettle  and  things  being  withdrawn  from  various  portions 
of  the  OF  Chief's  person,  he,  once  more  warmly  tucked  up 
and  tightly  lashed  down,  drew  the  edge  of  the  outer  coverlid 
up  till  it  met  the  wolf-skin  fringe  of  his  parki  hood,  and  re 
lapsed  into  slumber. 

Nicholas  chopped  down  enough  green  wood  to  make  a 
hearth. 

"What!  bang  on  the  snow?" 

Nicholas  nodded,  laid  the  logs  side  by  side,  and  on  them  built 
a  fire  of  the  seasoned  wood  the  Boy  had  gathered.  They 
boiled  the  kettle,  made  tea,  and  cooked  some  fish. 

OF  Chief  waked  up  just  in  time  to  get  his  share.  The  Boy, 
who  had  kept  hanging  about  the  dogs  with  unabated  interest, 
had  got  up  from  the  fire  to  carry  them  the  scraps,  when  Nicho 
las  called  out  quite  angrily,  "No!  no  feed  dogs,"  and  waved 
the  Boy  off. 

"What!  It's  only  some  of  my  fish.  Fish  is  what  they  eat, 
ain't  it?" 

"No  feed  now;  wait  till  night." 

"What  for?     They're  hungry." 

"You  give  fish — dogs  no  go  any  more." 

Peremptorily  he  waved  the  Boy  off,  and  fell  to  work  at 
packing  up.  Not  understanding  Nicholas's  wisdom,  the  Boy 
was  feeling  a  little  sulky  and  didn't  help.  He  finished  up  the 
fish  himself,  then  sat  on  his  heels  by  the  fire,  scorching  his 
face  while  his  back  froze,  or  wheeling  round  and  singeing  his 
new  parki  while  his  hands  grew  stiff  in  spite  of  seal-skin 
mittens. 

No,  it  was  no  fun  camping  with  the  temperature  at  thirty 
degrees  below  zero — better  to  be  trotting  after  those  expensive 
and  dinnerless  dogs;  and  he  was  glad  when  they  started  again. 

But  once  beyond  the  scant  shelter  of  the  cottonwood,  it 
was  evident  the  wind  had  risen.  It  was  blowing  straight  out 
of  the  north  and  into  their  faces.  There  were  times  when 
you  could  lean  your  whole  weight  against  the  blast. 

After  sunset  the  air  began  to  fill  with  particles  of  frozen 
snow.  They  did  not  seem  to  fall,  but  continually  to  whirl 
about,  and  present  stinging  points  to  the  travellers'  faces.  Talk 
ing  wasn't  possible  even  if  you  were  in  the  humour,  and  the 
dead,  blank  silence  of  all  nature,  unbroken  hour  after  hour, 
became  as  nerve-wearing  as  the  cold  and  stinging  wind.  The 
Boy  fell  behind  a  little.  Those  places  on  his  heels  that  had 

109 


THE   MAGNETIC   NORTH 

been  so  badly  galled  had  begun  to  be  troublesome  again.  Well, 
it  wouldn't  do  any  good  to  holla  about  it — the  only  thing  to 
do  was  to  harden  one's  foolish  feet.  But  in  his  heart  he  felt 
that  all  the  time-honoured  conditions  of  a  penitential  journey 
were  being  complied  with,  except  on  the  part  of  the  arch  sin 
ner.  Ol'  Chief  seemed  to  be  getting  on  first-rate. 

The  dogs,  hardly  yet  broken  in  to  the  winter's  work,  were 
growing  discouraged,  travelling  so  long  in  the  eye  of  the  wind. 
And  Nicholas,  in  the  kind  of  stolid  depression  that  had  taken 
possession  of  him,  seemed  to  have  forgotten  even  to  shout 
"Mush !"  for  a  very  long  time. 

"By-and-by  Ol'  Chief  called  out  sharply,  and  Nicholas 
seemed  to  wake  up.  He  stopped,  looked  back,  and  beckoned 
to  his  companion. 

The  Boy  came  slowly  on. 

"Why  you  no  push?" 

"Push  what?" 

"Handle-bar." 

He  went  to  the  sled  and  illustrated,  laying  his  hands  on  the 
arrangement  at  the  back  that  stood  out  like  the  handle  behind 
a  baby's  perambulator.  The  Boy  remembered.  Of  course, 
there  were  usually  two  men  with  each  sled.  One  ran  ahead  and 
broke  trail  with  snow-shoes,  but  that  wasn't  necessary  to-day, 
for  the  crust  bore.  But  the  other  man's  business  was  to  guide 
the  sled  from  behind  and  keep  it  on  the  trail. 

"Me  gottah  drive,  you  gottah  push.     Dogs  heap  tired." 

Nicholas  spoke  severely.  The  Boy  stared  a  moment  at  what 
he  mentally  called  "the  nerve  of  the  fella,"  laughed,  and  took 
hold,  swallowing  Nicholas's  intimation  that  he,  after  all,  was 
far  more  considerate  of  the  dogs  than  the  person  merely  senti 
mental,  who  had  been  willing  to  share  his  dinner  with  them. 

"How  much  farther?" 

"Oh,  pretty  quick  now." 

The  driver  cracked  his  whip,  called  out  to  the  dogs,  and 
suddenly  turned  off  from  the  river  course.  Unerringly  he  fol 
lowed  an  invisible  trail,  turning  sharply  up  a  slough,  and  went 
zig-zagging  on  without  apparent  plan.  It  was  better  going 
when  they  got  to  a  frozen  lake,  and  the  dogs  seemed  not  to 
need  so  much  encouragement.  It  would  appear  an  impossible 
task  to  steer  accurately  with  so  little  light;  but  once  on  the 
other  side  of  the  lake  it  was  found  that  Nicholas  had  hit  a 
well-beaten  track  as  neatly  as  a  thread  finds  the  needle's  eye. 

no 


A   PENITENTIAL  JOURNEY 

Far  off,  out  of  the  dimness,  came  a  sound — welcome  because 
it  was  something  to  break  the  silence  but  hardly  cheerful  in 
itself. 

"Hear  that,  Nicholas?" 

"Mission  dogs." 

Their  own  had  already  thrown  up  their  noses  and  bettered 
the  pace. 

The  barking  of  the  dogs  had  not  only  announced  the  mis 
sion  to  the  travellers,  but  to  the  mission  a  stranger  at  the 
gates. 

Before  anything  could  be  seen  of  the  settlement,  clumsy, 
fur-clad  figures  had  come  running  down  the  slope  and  across 
the  ice,  greeting  Nicholas  with  hilarity. 

Indian  or  Esquimaux  boys  they  seemed  to  be,  who  talked 
some  jargon  understanded  of  the  Pymeut  pilot.  The  Boy, 
lifting  tired  eyes,  saw  something  white  glimmering  high  in  the 
air  up  on  the  right  river  bank.  In  this  light  it  refused  to  form 
part  of  any  conceivable  plan,  but  hung  there  in  the  air  detached, 
enigmatic,  spectral.  Below  it,  more  on  humanity's  level,  could 
be  dimly  distinguished,  now,  the  Mission  Buildings,  appar 
ently  in  two  groups  with  an  open  space  in  the  middle.  Where 
are  the  white  people?  wondered  the  Boy,  childishly  impatient. 
Won't  they  come  and  welcome  us?  He  followed  the  Esqui 
maux  and  Indians  from  the  river  up  to  the  left  group  of 
buildings.  With  the  heathen  jargon  beating  on  his  ears,  he 
looked  up  suddenly,  and  realized  what  the  white  thing  was 
that  had  shone  out  so  far.  In  the  middle  of  the  open  space  a 
wooden  cross  stood  up,  encrusted  with  frost  crystals,  and  lift 
ing  gleaming  arms  out  of  the  gloom  twenty  feet  or  so  above 
the  heads  of  the  people. 

"Funny  thing  for  an  Agnostic,"  he  admitted  to  himself,  "but 
I'm  right  glad  to  see  a  Christian  sign."  And  as  he  knocked  at 
the  door  of  the  big  two-story  log-house  on  the  left  he  defended 
himself.  "It's  the  swing-back  of  the  pendulum  after  a  big 
dose  of  Pymeut  and  heathen  tricks.  I  welcome  it  as  a  mark  of 
the  white  man."  He  looked  over  his  shoulder  a  little  defiantly 
at  the  Holy  Cross.  Recognition  of  what  the  high  white  ap 
parition  was  had  given  him  a  queer  jolt,  stirring  unsuspected 
things  in  imagination  and  in  memory.  He  had  been  accus 
tomed  to  see  that  symbol  all  his  life,  and  it  had  never  spoken  to 
him  before.  Up  here  it  cried  aloud  and  dominated  the  scene. 
"Humph!"  he  said  to  himself,  "to  look  at  you  a  body'd  think 

in 


THE   MAGNETIC   NORTH 

'The  Origin'  had  never  been  written,  and  Spencer  and  Hux 
ley  had  never  been  born.'  He  knocked  again,  and  again  turned 
about  to  scan  the  cross. 

"Just  as  much  a  superstition,  just  as  much  a  fetich  as  Kav- 
iak's  seal-plug  or  the  Shaman's  eagle  feather.  With  long 
looking  at  a  couple  of  crossed  sticks  men  grow  as  dazed,  as 
hypnotized,  as  Pymeuts  watching  a  Shaman's  ivory  wand. 
All  the  same,  I'm  not  sure  that  faith  in  'First  Principles'  would 
build  a  house  like  this  in  the  Arctic  Regions,  and  it's  convenient 
to  find  it  here — if  only  they'd  open  the  door." 

He  gave  another  thundering  knock,  and  then  nearly  fell 
backwards  into  the  snow,  for  Brother  Paul  stood  on  the  thresh 
old  holding  up  a  lamp. 

"I — a — oh!     How  do  you  do?    Can  I  come  in?" 

Brother  Paul,  still  with  the  look  of  the  Avenging  Angel  on 
his  pale,  young  face,  held  the  door  open  to  let  the  Boy  come 
in.  Then,  leaning  out  into  the  night  and  lifting  the  lamp 
high,  "Is  that  Nicholas?"  he  said  sternly. 

But  the  Pymeuts  and  the  school-boys  had  vanished.  He 
came  in  and  set  down  the  lamp. 

"We — a — we  heard  you  were  going  down  river,"  said  the 
Boy,  tamely,  for  he  had  not  yet  recovered  himself  after  such 
an  unexpected  blow. 

"Are  you  cold?  Are  you  wet?"  demanded  Brother  Paul, 
standing  erect,  unwelcoming,  by  the  table  that  held  the  lamp. 

The  Boy  pulled  himself  together. 

"Look  here" — he  turned  away  from  the  comforting  stove 
and  confronted  the  Jesuit — "those  Pymeuts  are  not  only  cold 
and  wet  and  sick  too,  but  they're  sorry.  They've  come  to  ask 
forgiveness." 

"It's  easily  done." 

Such  scorn  you  would  hardly  expect  from  a  follower  of  the 
meek  Galilean. 

"No,  not  easily  done,  a  penance  like  this.  I  know,  for  I've 
just  travelled  that  thirty  miles  with  'em  over  the  ice  from 
Pymeut." 

"You?    Yes,  it  amuses  you." 

The  sombre  eyes  shone  with  a  cold,  disconcerting  light. 

"Well,  to  tell  you  the  truth,  I've  been  better  amused." 

The  Boy  looked  down  at  his  weary,  wounded  feet.  And  the 
others — where  were  his  fellow  pilgrims?  It  struck  him  as 
comic  that  the  upshot  of  the  journey  should  be  that  he  was 

112 


A   PENITENTIAL   JOURNEY 

doing  penance  for  the  Pymeuts,  but  he  couldn't  smile  with  that 
offended  archangel  in  front  of  him. 

"Thirty  miles  over  the  ice,  in  the  face  of  a  norther,  hasn't 
been  so  'easy'  even  for  me.  And  I'm  not  old,  nor  sick — no, 
nor  frightened,  Brother  Paul." 

He  flung  up  his  head,  but  his  heart  failed  him  even  while 
he  made  the  boast.  Silently,  for  a  moment,  they  confronted 
each  other. 

"Where  are  you  bound  for?" 

"I — a "  The  Boy  had  a  moment  of  wondering  if  he 

was  expected  to  answer  "Hell,"  and  he  hesitated. 

"Are  you  on  your  way  up  the  river?" 

"No — I"  (was  the  man  not  going  to  let  them  rest  their 
wicked  bones  there  a  single  night?) — "a — I " 

The  frozen  river  and  the  wind-racked  wood  were  as  hos 
pitable  as  the  beautiful  face  of  the  brother.  Involuntarily  the 
Boy  shivered. 

"I  came  to  see  the  Father  Superior." 

He  dropped  back  into  a  chair. 

"The  Father  Superior  is  busy." 

'Til  wait." 

"And  very  tired." 

"So'm    I." 

" worn  out  with  the  long  raging  of  the  plague.  I  have 

waited  till  he  is  less  harassed  to  tell  him  about  the  Pymeuts' 
deliberate  depravity.  Nicholas,  too! — one  of  our  own  people, 
one  of  the  first  pupils  of  the  school,  a  communicant  in  the 
church;  distinguished  by  a  thousand  kindnesses.  And  this  the 
return!" 

"The  return  is  that  he  takes  his  backsliding  so  to  heart,  he 
can't  rest  without  coming  to  confess  and  to  beg  the  Father 
Superior " 

"I  shall  tell  the  Father  Superior  what  I  heard  and  saw.  He 
will  agree  that,  for  the  sake  of  others  who  are  trying  to  resist 
temptation,  an  example  should  be  made  of  Nicholas  and  of 
his  father." 

"And  yet  you  nursed  the  old  man  and  were  kind  to  him,  I 
believe,  after  the  offense." 

"I — I  thought  you  had  killed  him.  But  even  you  must  see 
that  we  cannot  have  a  man  received  here  as  Nicholas  was — the 
most  favoured  child  of  the  mission — who  helps  to  perpetuate 


THE    MAGNETIC   NORTH 

the  degrading  blasphemies  of  his  unhappy  race.  It's  nothing 
to  you;  you  even  encourage " 

"  Ton  my  soul "  But  Brother  Paul  struck  in  with  an 

impassioned  earnestness : 

"We  spend  a  life-time  making  Christians  of  these  people; 
and  such  as  you  come  here,  and  in  a  week  undo  the  work  of 
years." 

"I if" 

"It's  only  eighteen  months  since  I  myself  came,  but  already 

I've  seen "  The  torrent  poured  out  with  never  a  pause. 

"Last  summer  some  white  prospectors  bribed  our  best  native 
teacher  to  leave  us  and  become  a  guide.  He's  a  drunken  wreck 
now  somewhere  up  on  the  Yukon  Flats.  You  take  our  boys 
for  pilots,  you  entice  our  girls  away  with  trinkets " 

"Great  Caesar!     /  don't." 

But  vain  was  protest.  For  Brother  Paul  the  visitor  was 
not  a  particular  individual.  He  stood  there  for  the  type  of  the 
vicious  white  adventurer. 

The  sunken  eyes  of  the  lay-brother,  burning,  impersonal,  saw 
not  a  particular  young  man  and  a  case  compounded  of  mixed 
elements,  but — The  Enemy!  against  whom  night  and  day  he 
waged  incessant  warfare. 

"The  Fathers  and  Sisters  wear  out  their  lives  to  save  these 
people.  We  teach  them  with  incredible  pains  the  fundamental 
rules  of  civilization;  we  teach  them  how  to  save  their  souls 
alive."  The  Boy  had  jumped  up  and  laid  his  hand  on  the  door 
knob.  "You  come.  You  teach  them  to  smoke " 

The  Boy  wheeled  round. 

"I  don't  smoke." 

"...    and  to  gamble." 

"Nicholas  taught  me  to  gamble.    Brother  Paul,  I  swear " 

"Yes,  and  to  swear  and  get  drunk,  and  so  find  the  shortest 
way  to  hell." 

"Father  Brachet!  Father  Wills!"  a  voice  called  without. 

The  door-knob  turned  under  the  Boy's  hand,  and  before  he 
could  more  than  draw  back,  a  whiff  of  winter  blew  into  the 
room,  and  a  creature  stood  there  such  as  no  man  looks  to  find 
on  his  way  to  an  Arctic  gold  camp.  A  girl  of  twenty  edd,  with 
the  face  of  a  saint,  dressed  in  the  black  habit  of  the  Order  of 
St.  Anne. 

"Oh,  Brother  Paul!  you  are  wanted — wanted  quickly.  I 

think  Catherine  is  worse;  don't  wait,  or  she'll  die  without " 

114 


A    PENITENTIAL   JOURNEY 

And  as  suddenly  as  she  came  the  vision  vanished,  carrying 
Brother  Paul  in  the  wake  of  her  streaming  veil. 

The  Boy  sat  down  by  the  stove,  cogitating  how  he  should 
best  set  about  finding  Nicholas  to  explain  the  failure  of  their 
mission.  .  .  .  What  was  that?  Voices  from  the  other  side. 
The  opposite  door  opened  and  a  man  appeared,  with  Nicholas 
and  his  father  close  behind,  looking  anything  but  cast  down 
or  decently  penitential. 

"How  'do  you  do?"  The  white  man's  English  had  a  strong 
French  accent.  He  shook  hands  with  great  cordiality.  "We 
have  heard  of  you  from  Father  Wills  also.  These  Pymeut 
friends  of  ours  say  you  have  something  to  tell  me." 

He  spoke  as  though  this  something  were  expected  to  be  highly 
gratifying,  and,  indeed,  the  cheerfulness  of  Nicholas  and  his 
father  would  indicate  as  much. 

As  the  Boy,  hesitating,  did  not  accept  the  chair  offered, 
smiling,  the  Jesuit  went  on: 

"Will  you  talk  of  zis  matter — whatever  it  is — first,  or  will 
you  first  go  up  and  wash,  and  have  our  conference  after 
supper?" 

"No,  thank  you — a Are  you  the  Father  Superior?" 

He  bowed  a  little  ceremoniously,  but  still  smiling. 

"I  am  Father  Brachet." 

"Oh,  well,  Nicholas  is  right.  The  first  thing  to  do  is  to 
explain  why  we're  here." 

Was  it  the  heat  of  the  stove  after  the  long  hours  of  cold  that 
made  him  feel  a  little  dizzy?  He  put  up  his  hand  to  his  head. 

"I  have  told  zem  to  take  hot  water  upstairs,"  the  Father  was 
saying,  "and  I  zink  a  glass  of  toddy  would  be  a  good  sing  for 
you."  He  slightly  emphasised  the  "you,"  and  turned  as  if  to 
supplement  the  original  order. 

"No,  no!"  the  Boy  called  after  him,  choking  a  little,  half 
with  suppressed  merriment,  half  with  nervous  fatigue.  "Father 
Brachet,  if  you're  kind  to  us,  Brother  Paul  will  never  forgive 
you.  We're  all  in  disgrace." 

"Hein!     What?" 

"Yes,  we're  all  desperately  wicked." 

"No,  no,"  objected  Nicholas,  ready  to  go  back  on  so  tactless 
an  advocate. 

"And  Brother  Paul  has  just  been  saying " 

"What  is  it,  what  is  it?' 

The  Father  Superior  spoke  a  little  sharply,  and  himself  sat 


THE    MAGNETIC   NORTH 

down  in  the  wooden  armchair  he  before  had  placed  for  his 
white  guest. 

The  three  culprits  stood  in  front  of  him  on  a  dead  level  of 
iniquity. 

"You  see,  Father  Brachet,  OF  Chief  has  been  very  ill " 

"I  know.  Much  as  we  needed  him  here,  Paul  insisted  on 
hurrying  back  to  Pymeut" — he  interrupted  himself  as  readily 
as  he  had  interrupted  the  Boy — "but  ze  Ol'  Chief  looks  lively 
enough." 

"Yes;  he — a — his  spirits  have  been  raised  by — a — what  you 
will  think  an  unwarrantable  and  wicked  means." 

Nicholas  understood,  at  least,  that  objectionable  word 
"wicked"  cropping  up  again,  and  he  was  not  prepared  to  stand 
it  from  the  Boy. 

He  grunted  with  displeasure,  and  said  something  low  to  his 
father. 

"Brother  Paul  found  them — found  us  having  a  seance  with 
the  Shaman." 

Father  Brachet  turned  sharply  to  the  natives. 

"Ha!  you  go  back  to  zat." 

Nicholas  came  a  step  forward,  twisting  his  mittens  and  roll 
ing  his  eye  excitedly. 

"Us  no  wicked.    Shaman  say  he  gottah  scare  off "     He 

waved  his  arm  against  an  invisible  army.  Then,  as  it  were, 
stung  into  plain  speaking:  "Shaman  say  white  man  bring  sick 
ness — bring  devils " 

"Maybe  the  old  Orang  Outang's  right." 

The  Boy  drew  a  tired  breath,  and  sat  down  without  bidding 
in  one  of  the  wooden  chairs.  What  an  idiot  he'd  been  not  to 
take  the  hot  grog  and  the  hot  bath,  and  leave  these  people  to^ 
fight  their  foolishness  out  among  themselves !  It  didn't  con 
cern  him.  And  here  was  Nicholas  talking  away  comfortably 
in  his  own  tongue,  and  the  Father  was  answering.  A  native 
opened  the  door  and  peeped  in  cautiously. 

Nicholas  paused. 

"Hein!"  said  Father  Brachet,  "what  is  it!" 

The  Indian  came  in  with  two  cups  of  hot  tea  and  a  cracker 
in  each  saucer.  He  stopped  at  the  priest's  side. 

"You  get  sick,  too.  Please  take.  Supper  little  late."  He 
nodded  to  Nicholas,  and  gave  the  white  stranger  the  second 
cup.  As  he  was  going  out:  "Same  man  here  in  July.  You 

116 


A   PENITENTIAL   JOURNEY 

know" — he  tapped  himself  on  the  left  side — "man  with  sore 
heart." 

"Yansey?"  said  the  priest  quickly.  "Well,  what  about 
Yansey?" 

"He  is  here." 

"But  no!    Wiz  zose  ozzers?" 

"No,  I  think  they  took  the  dogs  and  deserted  him.  He's  just 
been  brought  in  by  our  boys;  they  are  back  with  the  moose- 
meat.  Sore  heart  worse.  He  will  die." 

"Who's  looking  after  him?" 

"Brother  Paul;"  and  he  padded  out  of  the  room  in  his  soft 
native  shoes. 

"Then  Brother  Paul  has  polished  off  Catherine,"  thought  the 
Boy,  "and  he  won't  waste  much  time  over  a  sore  heart.  It 
behoves  us  to  hurry  up  with  our  penitence."  This  seemed  to  be 
Nicholas's  view  as  well.  He  was  beginning  again  in  his  own 
tongue. 

"You  know  we  like  best  for  you  to  practise  your  English," 
said  the  priest  gently;  "I  expect  you  speak  very  well  after 
working  so  long  on  ze  John  J.  Healy." 

"Yes,"  Nicholas  straightened  himself.  "Me  talk  all  same 
white  man  now."  (He  gleamed  at  the  Boy:  "Don't  suppose 
I  need  you  and  your  perfidious  tongue.")  "No;  us  Pymeuts  no 
wicked!" 

Again  he  turned  away  from  the  priest,  and  challenged  the 
Boy  to  repeat  the  slander.  Then  with  an  insinuating  air, 
"Shaman  no  say  you  wicked,"  he  reassured  the  Father.  "Sha 
man  say  Holy  Cross  all  right.  Cheechalko  no  good;  Chee- 
chalko  bring  devils;  Cheechalko  all  same  him"  he  wound 
up,  flinging  subterfuge  to  the  winds,  and  openly  indicating  his 
faithless  ambassador. 

"Strikes  me  I'm  gettin'  the  worst  of  this  argument  all  round. 
Brother  Paul's  been  sailing  into  me  on  pretty  much  the  same 
tack." 

"No,"  said  Nicholas,  firmly;  "Brother  Paul  no  unnerstan'. 
You  unnerstan'."  He  came  still  nearer  to  the  Father,  speaking 
in  a  friendly,  confidential  tone.  "You  savvy!  Plague  come  on 
steamboat  up  from  St.  Michael.  One  white  man,  he  got  coast 
sickness.  Sun  shining.  Salmon  run  big.  Yukon  full  o'  boats. 
Two  days:  no  canoe  on  river.  Men  all  sit  in  tent  like  so."  He 
let  his  mittens  fall  on  the  floor,  crouched  on  his  heels,  and 

117 


THE    MAGNETIC   NORTH 

rocked  his  head  in  his  hands.  Springing  up,  he  went  on  with 
slow,  sorrowful  emphasis:  "Men  begin  die " 

"Zen  we  come,"  said  the  Father,  "wiz  nurses  and  proper 
medicine " 

Nicholas  gave  the  ghost  of  a  shrug,  adding  the  damaging 
fact:  "Sickness  come  to  Holy  Cross." 

The  Father  nodded. 

"We've  had  to  turn  ze  schools  into  wards  for  our  patients," 
he  explained  to  the  stranger.  "We  do  little  now  but  nurse  ze 
sick  and  prepare  ze  dying.  Ze  Muzzer  Superieure  has  broken 
down  after  heroic  labours.  Paul,  I  fear,  is  sickening  too.  Yes, 
it's  true:  ze  disease  came  to  us  from  Pymeut." 

In  the  Father's  mind  was  the  thought  of  contagion  courage 
ously  faced  in  order  to  succour  "the  least  of  these  my  brethren." 
In  Nicholas's  mind  was  the  perplexing  fact  that  these  white  men 
could  bring  sickness,  but  not  stay  it.  Even  the  heap  good 
people  at  Holy  Cross  were  not  saved  by  their  deaf  and  impotent 
God. 

"Fathers  sick,  eight  Sisters  sick,  boy  die  in  school,  three  girl 

die.  Holy  Cross  people  kind "  Again  he  made  that  almost 

French  motion  of  the  shoulders.  "Shaman  say,  'Peeluck!'  No 
good  be  kind  to  devils ;  scare  'em — make  'em  rww." 

"Nicholas,"  the  priest  spoke  wearily,  "I  am  ashamed  of  you. 
I  sought  you  had  learned  better.  Zat  old  Shaman — he  is  a 
rare  old  rogue.  What  did  you  give  him?" 

Nicholas'  mental  processes  may  not  have  been  flattering,  but 
their  clearness  was  unmistakable.  If  Father  Brachet  was  jeal 
ous  of  the  rival  holy  man's  revenue,  it  was  time  to  bring  out  the 
presents. 

Ol'  Chief  had  a  fine  lynx-skin  over  his  arm.  He  advanced 
at  a  word  from  Nicholas,  and  laid  it  down  before  the  Father. 

"No!"  said  Father  Brachet,  with  startling  suddenness;  "take 
it  away  and  try  to  understand." 

Nicholas  approached  trembling,  but  no  doubt  remembering 
how  necessary  it  had  been  to  add  to  the  Shaman's  offering  be 
fore  he  would  consent  to  listen  with  favour  to  Pymeut  prayers, 
he  pulled  out  of  their  respective  hiding-places  about  his  person 
a  carved  ivory  spoon  and  an  embroidered  bird-skin  pouch,  ad 
vanced  boldly  under  the  fire  of  the  Superior's  keen  eyes  and 
sharp  words,  and  laid  the  further  offering  on  the  lynx-skin  at 
his  feet. 

"Take  zem  away,"  said  the  priest,  interrupting  his  brief 

118 


A   PENITENTIAL   JOURNEY 

homily  and  standing  up.  "Don't  you  understand  yet  zat  we 
are  your  friends  wizzout  money  and  wizzout  price?  We  do 
not  want  zese  sings.  Shaman  takes  ivories  from  ze  poor,  furs 
from  ze  shivering,  and  food  from  zem  zat  starve.  And  he  gives 
nossing  in  return — nossing!  Take  zese  sings  away;  no  one 
wants  zem  at  Holy  Cross." 

Ol'  Chief  wiped  his  eyes  pathetically.  Nicholas,  the  picture 
of  despair,  turned  in  a  speechless  appeal  to  his  despised  ambassa 
dor.  Before  anyone  could  speak,  the  door-knob  rattled  rudely, 
and  the  big  bullet-head  of  a  white  man  was  put  in. 

"Pardon,  mon  Pere;  cet  homme  qui  vient  de  Minook — fau- 
drait  le  coucher  de  suite — mais  ou,  mon  Dieu,  ou?" 

While  the  Superior  cogitated,  "How-do,  Brother  Etienne?" 
said  Nicholas,  and  they  nodded. 

Brother  Etienne  brought  the  rest  of  his  heavy  body  half  in 
side  the  door.  He  wore  aged,  weather-beaten  breeches,  and  a 
black  sweater  over  an  old  hickory  shirt. 

"Ses  compagnons  1'ont  laisse,  la,  je  crois.  Mais  ?a  ne  durera 
pas  longtemps." 

"Faudra  bien  qu'il  reste  ici — je  ne  vois  pas  d'autre  moyen," 
said  the  Father.  "Enfin — on  verra.  Attendez  quelques  in 
stants." 

"C'est  bien."     Brother  Etienne  went  out. 

Ol'  Chief  was  pulling  the  Boy's  sleeve  during  the  little  col 
loquy,  and  saying,  "You  tell."  But  the  Boy  got  up  like  one 
who  means  to  make  an  end. 

"You  haven't  any  time  or  strength  for  this " 

"Oh  yes,"  said  Father  Brachet,  smiling,  and  arresting  the 
impetuous  movement.  "Ziz  is — part  of  it." 

"Well,"  said  the  Boy,  still  hesitating,  "they  are  sorry,  you 
know,  really  sorry." 

"You  sink  so?"    The  question  rang  a  little  sceptically. 

"Yes,  I  do,  and  I'm  in  a  position  to  know.  You'd  forgive 
them  if  you'd  seen,  as  I  did,  how  miserable  and  overwhelmed 

they  were  when  Brother  Paul — when I'm  not  saying  it's 

the  highest  kind  of  religion  that  they're  so  almighty  afraid  of 
losing  your  good  opinion,  but  it — it  gives  you  a  hold,  doesn't 
it?"  And  then,  as  the  Superior  said  nothing,  only  kept  intent 
eyes  on  the  young  face,  the  Boy  wound  up  a  little  angrily: 
"Unless,  of  course,  you're  like  Brother  Paul,  ready  to  throw 
away  the  power  you've  gained " 

"Paul  serves  a  great  and  noble  purpose — but — zese  questions 

119 


THE    MAGNETIC   NORTH 

are — a — not  in  his  province."  Still  he  bored  into  the  young 
face  with  those  kind  gimlets,  his  good  little  eyes,  and — 

"You  are— one  of  us?"  he  asked,  "of  ze  Church?" 

"No,  I— I'm  afraid  I'm  not  of  any  Church." 

"Ah!" 

"And  I  ought  to  take  back  'afraid.'  But  I'm  telling  you 
the  truth  when  I  say  there  never  were  honester  penitents  than 
the  Pymeuts.  The  whole  Kachime's  miserable.  Even  the  girl, 
Ol'  Chief's  daughter  she  cried  like  anything  when  she  thought 
Sister " 

"Winifred?" 

"Sister  Winifred  would  be  disappointed  in  her." 

"Ah,  yes;  Sister  Winifred  has  zem "  he  held  out  his 

hand,  spread  the  fingers  apart,  and  slowly,  gently  closed  them. 
"Comme  ca." 

"But  what's  the  good  of  it  if  Brother  Paul " 

"Ah,  it  is  not  just  zere  Paul  comes  in.  But  I  tell  you,  my 
son,  Paul  does  a  work  here  no  ozzer  man  has  done  so  well." 

"He  is  a  flint — a  fanatic." 

"Fanatique!"  He  flung  out  an  expressive  hand.  "It  is  a 
name,  my  son.  It  often  means  no  more  but  zat  a  man  is  in 
earnest.  Out  of  such  a  'flint'  we  strike  sparks,  and  many  a 
generous  fire  is  set  alight.  We  all  do  what  we  can  here  at 
Holy  Cross,  but  Paul  will  do  what  we  cannot." 

"Well,  give  me "  He  was  on  the  point  of  saying  "Father 

Wills,"  but  changed  it  to  "a  man  who  is  tolerant." 

"Tolerant?  Zere  are  plenty  to  be  tolerant,  my  son.  Ze 
world  is  full.  But  when  you  find  a  man  zat  can  care,  zat  can 
be  'fanatique' — ah!  It  is" — he  came  a  little  nearer — "it  is  but 
as  if  I  would  look  at  you  and  say,  'He  has  earnest  eyes!  He 
will  go  far  whatever  road  he  follow.'  "  He  drew  off,  smiling 
shrewdly.  "You  may  live,  my  son,  to  be  yourself  called  'fan 
atique.'  Zen  you  will  know  how  little " 

"I !"  the  Boy  broke  in.  "You  are  pretty  wide  of  the  mark 
this  time." 

"Ah,  perhaps!  But  zere  are  more  trails  zan  ze  Yukon  for 
a  fanatique.  You  have  zere  somesing  to  show  me?" 

"I  promised  the  girl  that  cried  so — I  promised  her  to  bring 
the  Sister  this."  He  had  pulled  out  the  picture.  In  spite  of  the 
careful  wrapping,  it  had  got  rather  crumpled.  The  Father 
looked  at  it,  and  then  a  swift  glance  passed  between  him  and 
the  Boy. 

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A   PENITENTIAL   JOURNEY 

"You  could  see  it  was  like  pulling  out  teeth  to  part  with  it. 
Can  it  go  up  there  till  the  Sister  sends  for  it?" 

Father  Brachet  nodded,  and  the  gorgeous  worldling,  coun 
selling  all  men  to  "Smoke  Kentucky  Leaf!"  was  set  up  in  the 
high  place  of  honour  on  the  mantel-shelf,  beside  a  print  of  the 
Madonna  and  the  Holy  Child.  Nicholas  cheered  up  at  this, 
and  OF  Chief  stopped  wiping  his  eyes.  While  the  Boy  stood 
at  the  mantel  with  his  back  to  Father  Brachet,  acting  on  a 
sudden  impulse,  he  pulled  the  ivory  pen-rest  out  of  his  shirt, 
and  stuck  its  various  parts  together,  saying  as  he  did  so,  "She 
sent  an  offering  to  you,  too.  If  the  Ol'  Chief  an'  I  fail  to  con 
vince  you  of  our  penitence,  we're  all  willin'  to  let  this  gentle 
man  plead  for  us."  Whereupon  he  wheeled  round  and  held 
up  the  Woeful  One  before  the  Father's  eyes. 

The  priest  grasped  the  offering  with  an  almost  convulsive 
joy,  and  instantly  turned  his  back  that  the  Pymeuts  might  not 
see  the  laugh  that  twisted  up  his  humorous  old  features.  The 
penitents  looked  at  each  other,  and  telegraphed  in  Pymeut  that 
after  all  the  Boy  had  come  up  to  time.  The  Father  had  refused 
the  valuable  lynx-skin  and  Nicholas'  superior  spoon,  but  was 
ready,  it  appeared,  to  look  with  favour  on  anything  the  Boy 
offered. 

But  very  seriously  the  priest  turned  round  upon  the  Py 
meuts.  "I  will  just  say  a  word  to  you  before  we  wash  and  go 
in  to  supper."  With  a  kindly  gravity  he  pronounced  a  few 
simple  sentences  about  the  gentleness  of  Christ  with  the  igno 
rant,  but  how  offended  the  Heavenly  Father  was  when  those 
who  knew  the  true  God  descended  to  idolatrous  practices,  and 
how  entirely  He  could  be  depended  upon  to  punish  wicked 
people. 

OF  Chief  nodded  vigorously  and  with  sudden  excitement. 
"Me  jus'  like  God." 

"Hein?" 

"Oh,  yes.  Me  no  stan'  wicked  people.  When  me  young  me 
kill  two  ol'  squaws — witches!"  With  an  outward  gesture  of 
his  lean  claws  he  swept  these  wicked  ones  off  the  face  of  the 
earth,  like  a  besom  of  the  Lord. 

A  sudden  change  had  passed  over  the  tired  face  of  the  priest. 
"Go,  go !"  he  called  out,  driving  the  Pymeuts  forth  as  one  shoos 
chickens  out  of  a  garden.  "Go  to  ze  schoolhouse  and  get  fed, 
for  it's  all  you  seem  able  to  get  zere." 

But  the  perplexed  flight  of  the  Pymeuts  was  arrested. 

121 


THE    MAGNETIC    NORTH 

Brother  Paul  and  Brother  Etienne  blocked  the  way  with  a 
stretcher.  They  all  stood  back  to  let  the  little  procession  come 
in.  Nobody  noticed  them  further,  but  the  Pymeuts  scuttled 
away  the  instant  they  could  get  by.  The  Boy,  equally  forgot 
ten,  sat  down  in  a  corner,  while  the  three  priests  conferred  in 
low-voiced  French  over  the  prostrate  figure. 

"Father  Brachet,"  a  weak  voice  came  up  from  the  floor. 

Brother  Paul  hurried  out,  calling  Brother  Etienne  softly 
from  the  door. 

"I  am  here."  The  Superior  came  from  the  foot  of  the  pallet, 
and  knelt  down  near  the  head. 

"You — remember  what  you  said  last  July?" 

-About " 

"About  making  restitution." 

"Yes." 

"Well,  I  can  do  it  now." 

"I  am  glad." 

"I've  brought  you  the  papers.  That's  why — I — had  to  come. 
Will  you — take  them — out  of  my " 

The  priest  unbuckled  a  travel-stained  buckskin  miner's  belt 
and  laid  it  on  the  floor.  All  the  many  pockets  were  empty 
save  the  long  one  in  the  middle.  He  unbuttoned  the  flap  and 
took  out  some  soiled,  worn-looking  papers.  "Are  zese  in 
proper  form?"  he  asked,  but  the  man  seemed  to  have  dropped 
into  unconsciousness.  Hurriedly  the  priest  added:  "Zere  is 
no  time  to  read  zem.  Ah!  Mr. will  you  come  and  wit 
ness  zis  last  will  and  testament?" 

The  Boy  got  up  and  stood  near.  The  man  from  Minook 
opened  his  eyes. 

"Here!"  The  priest  had  got  writing  materials,  and  put  a 
pen  into  the  slack  hand,  with  a  block  of  letter-paper  under  iu 

"I — I'm  no  lawyer,"  said  the  faint  voice,  "but  I  think  it's 
all — in  shape.  Anyhow — you  write — and  I'll  sign."  He  half 
closed  his  eyes,  and  the  paper  slipped  from  under  his  hand. 
The  Boy  caught  it,  and  set  down  the  faint  words: — "will  and 
bequeath  to  John  M.  Berg,  Kansas  City,  my  right  and  title 

to  claim  No.  1 1  Above,  Little  Minook,  Yukon  Ramparts " 

And  the  voice  fell  away  into  silence.  They  waited  a  moment, 
and  the  Superior  whispered : 

"Can  you  sign  it?" 

The  dull  eyes  opened.     "Didn't  I ?" 

Father  Brachet  held  him  up ;  the  Boy  gave  him  the  pen  and 

122 


A   PENITENTIAL   JOURNEY 

steadied  the  paper.  ''Thank  you,  Father.  Obliged  to  you, 
too."  He  turned  his  dimming  eyes  upon  the  Boy,  who  wrote 
his  name  in  witness.  "You — going  to  Minook?" 

"I  hope  so." 

The  Father  went  to  the  writing-table,  where  he  tied  up  and 
sealed  the  packet. 

4 'Anybody  that's  going  to  Minook  will  have  to  hustle."  The 
slang  of  everyday  energy  sounded  strangely  from  dying  lips — 
almost  a  whisper,  and  yet  like  a  far-off  bugle  calling  a  captive 
to  battle. 

The  Boy  leaned  down  to  catch  the  words,  yet  fainter: 

"Good  claims  going  like  hot  cakes." 

"How  much,"  the  Boy  asked,  breathless,  "did  you  get  out  of 
yours  ?" 

"Waiting  till  summer.    Nex'  summer "    The  eyelids  fell. 

"So  it  isn't  a  fake  after  all."  The  Boy  stood  up.  "The 
camp's  all  right!" 

"You'll  see.     It  will  out-boom  the  Klondyke." 

"Ha!    How  long  have  you  been  making  the  trip?" 

"Since  August." 

The  wild  flame  of  enterprise  sunk  in  the  heart  of  the  hearer. 

"Since  August?" 

"No  cash  for  steamers ;  we  had  a  canoe.  She  went  to  pieces 

up  by "  The  weak  voice  fell  down  into  that  deep  gulf  that 

yawns  waiting  for  man's  last  word. 

"But  there  is  gold  at  Minook,  you're  sure?    You've  seen  it?" 

The  Father  Superior  locked  away  the  packet  and  stood  up. 
But  the  Boy  was  bending  down  fascinated,  listening  at  the 
white  lips.  "There  is  gold  there?"  he  repeated. 

Out  of  the  gulf  came  faintly  back  like  an  echo : 

"Plenty  o'  gold  there — plenty  o'  gold." 

"Jee-rusalem!"  He  stood  up  and  found  himself  opposite  the 
comtemplative  face  of  the  priest. 

"We  have  neglected  you,  my  son.  Come  upstairs  to  my 
room." 

They  went  out,  the  old  head  bent,  and  full  of  thought ;  the 
young  head  high,  and  full  of  dreams.  Oh,  to  reach  this 
Minook,  where  there  was  "plenty  of  gold,  plenty  of  gold,"  be 
fore  the  spring  floods  brought  thousands.  What  did  any  risk 
matter?  Think  of  the  Pymeuts  doing  their  sixty  miles  over 
the  ice  just  to  apologise  to  Father  Brachet  for  being  Pymeuts. 
This  other,  this  white  man's  penance  might,  would  involve  a 

123 


THE    MAGNETIC   NORTH 

greater  mortification  of  the  flesh.  What  then?  The  reward 
was  proportionate — "plenty  of  gold."  The  faint  whisper  filled 
the  air. 

A  little  more  hardship,  and  the  long  process  of  fortune-build 
ing  is  shortened  to  a  few  months.  No  more  office  grind.  No 
more  anxiety  for  those  one  loves. 

Gold,  plenty  of  gold,  while  one  is  young  and  can  spend  it 
gaily — gold  to  buy  back  the  Orange  Grove,  to  buy  freedom 
and  power,  to  buy  wings,  and  to  buy  happiness! 

On  the  stairs  they  passed  Brother  Paul  and  the  native. 

"Supper  in  five  minutes,  Father." 

The  Superior  nodded. 

"There  is  a  great  deal  to  do,"  the  native  went  on  hurriedly 
to  Paul.  "We've  got  to  bury  Catherine  to-morrow " 

"And  this  man  from  Minook,"  agreed  Paul,  pausing  with 
his  hand  on  the  door. 


124 


CHAPTER   VII 
KAVIAK'S  CRIME 

"My  little  son,  who  look'd  from  thoughtful  eyes, 
And  moved  and  spoke  in  quiet  grown-up  wise, 
Having  my  law  the  seventh  time  disobey'd, 
I  struck  him,  and  dismiss'd 
With  hard  words  and  unkiss'd.     .     .     ." 

EVEN  with  the  plague  and  Brother  Paul  raging  at  the 
mission — even  with  everyone  preoccupied  by  the  claims 
of  dead  and  dying,  the  Boy  would  have  been  glad  to  pro 
long  his  stay  had  it  not  been  for  "nagging"  thoughts  of  the 
Colonel.  As  it  was,  with  the  mercury  rapidly  rising  and  the 
wind  fallen,  he  got  the  Pymeuts  on  the  trail  next  day  at  noon, 
spent  what  was  left  of  the  night  at  the  Kachime,  and  set  off 
for  camp  early  the  following  day.  He  arrived  something  of 
a  wreck,  and  with  an  enormous  respect  for  the  Yukon  trail. 

It  did  him  good  to  sight  the  big  chimney,  and  still  more  to 
see  the  big  Colonel  putting  on  his  snow-shoes  near  the  bottom 
of  the  hill,  where  the  cabin  trail  met  the  river  trail.  When 
the  Boss  o'  the  camp  looked  up  and  saw  the  prodigal  coming 
along,  rather  groggy  on  his  legs,  he  just  stood  still  a  moment. 
Then  he  kicked  off  his  web-feet,  turned  back  a  few  paces  up 
hill,  and  sat  down  on  a  spruce  stump,  folded  his  arms,  and 
waited.  Was  it  the  knapsack  on  his  back  that  bowed  him  so? 

"Hello,  Kentucky!" 

But  the  Colonel  didn't  look  up  till  the  Boy  got  quite  near, 
chanting  in  his  tuneless  voice: 

'* 'Grasshoppah  sett'n  on  a  swee'  p'tater  vine, 
Swee'  p'tater  vine,  swee'  p'tater  vine '" 

"What's  the  matter,  hey,  Colonel?    Sorry  as  all  that  to  see  me 
back?" 

"Reckon  it's  the  kind  o'  sorrah  I  can  bear,"  said  the  Colonel. 
"We  thought  you  were  dead." 

125 


THE   MAGNETIC   NORTH 

"You  ought  t'  known  me  better.  Were  you  just  sendin'  out 
a  rescue-party  of  one?" 

The  Colonel  nodded.  "That  party  would  have  started  be 
fore,  but  I  cut  my  foot  with  the  axe  the  day  you  left.  Where 
have  you  been,  in  the  name  o'  the  nation?" 

"Pymeut  an'  Holy  Cross." 

"Holy  Cross?    Holy  Moses!    You?" 

"Yes;  and  do  you  know,  one  thing  I  saw  there  gave  me  a 
serious  nervous  shock." 

"That  don't  surprise  me.    What  was  it?" 

"Sheets.  When  I  came  to  go  to  bed — a  real  bed,  Colonel, 
on  legs — I  found  I  was  expected  to  sleep  between  sheets,  and 
I  just  about  fainted." 

"That  the  only  shock  you  had?" 

"No,  I  had  several.  I  saw  an  angel.  ^  I  tell  you  straight, 
Colonel — you  can  bank  on  what  I'm  sayin' — that  Jesuit  out 
fit's  all  right." 

"Oh,  you  think  so?"    The  rejoinder  came  a  little  sharply. 

"Yes,  sir,  I  just  do.    I  think  I'd  be  bigoted  not  to  admit  it." 

"So,  you'll  be  thick  as  peas  in  a  pod  with  the  priests  now?" 

"Well,  I'm  the  one  that  can  afford  to  be.  They  won't  con 
vert  me!  And,  from  my  point  o'  view,  it  don't  matter  what 
a  man  is  s'  long's  he's  a  decent  fella." 

The  Colonel's  only  answer  was  to  plunge  obliquely  uphill. 

"Say,  Boss,  wait  for  me." 

The  Colonel  looked  back.  The  Boy  was  holding  on  to  a 
scrub  willow  that  put  up  wiry  twigs  above  the  snow. 

"Feel  as  if  I'd  never  get  up  the  last  rungs  o'  this  darn  ice- 
ladder!" 

"Tired?  H'm!  Something  of  a  walk  to  Holy  Cross  even 
on  a  nice  mild  day  like  this."  The  Colonel  made  the  reflec 
tion  with  obvious  satisfaction,  took  off  his  knapsack,  and  sat 
down  again.  The  Boy  did  the  same.  "The  very  day  you  lit 
out  Father  Orloff  came  up  from  the  Russian  mission." 

"What's  he  like?" 

"Oh,  little  fella  in  petticoats,  with  a  beard  an'  a  high  pot- 
hat,  like  a  Russian.  And  that  same  afternoon  we  had  a  half- 
breed  trader  fella  here,  with  two  white  men.  Since  that  day 
we  haven't  seen  a  human  creature.  We  bought  some  furs  of 
the  trader.  Where'd  you  get  yours?" 

"Pymeut.     Any  news  about  the  strike?" 

"Well,  the  trader  fella  was  sure  it  was  all  gammon,  and  told 

126 


KAVIAK'S    CRIME 

us  stories  of  men  who'd  sacrificed  everything  and  joined  a 
stampede,  and  got  sold — sold  badly.  But  the  two  crazy  whites 
with  him — miners  from  Dakotah — they  were  on  fire  about 
Minook.  Kept  on  bragging  they  hadn't  cold  feet,  and  swore 
they'd  get  near  to  the  diggins  as  their  dogs'd  take  'em.  The 
half-breed  said  they  might  do  a  hundred  miles  more,  but  prob 
ably  wouldn't  get  beyond  Anvik." 

"Crazy  fools!  I  tell  you,  to  travel  even  thirty  miles  on  the 
Yukon  in  winter,  even  with  a  bully  team  and  old  Nick  to 
drive  'em,  and  not  an  extra  ounce  on  your  back — I  tell  you, 
Colonel,  it's  no  joke." 

"B'lieve  you,  sonny." 

It  wasn't  thirty  seconds  before  sonny  was  adding:  "Did 
that  half-breed  think  it  was  any  use  our  trying  to  get  dogs?" 

"Ain't  to  be  had  now  for  love  or  money." 

"Lord,  Colonel,  if  we  had  a  team " 

"Yes,  I  know.  We'll  probably  owe  our  lives  to  the  fact 
that  we  haven't." 

It  suddenly  occurred  to  the  Boy  that,  although  he  Had  just 
done  a  pretty  good  tramp  and  felt  he'd  rather  die  than  go  fifty 
feet  further,  it  was  the  Colonel  who  was  most  tired. 

"How's  everybody?" 

"Oh,  I  s'pose  we  might  all  of  us  be  worse  off." 

"What's  the  matter?" 

He  was  so  long  answering  that  the  Boy's  eyes  turned  to  fol 
low  the  serious  outward  gaze  of  the  older  man,  even  before 
he  lifted  one  hand  and  swept  it  down  the  hill  and  out  across 
the  dim,  grey  prospect. 

"This,"  said  the  Colonel. 

Their  eyes  had  dropped  down  that  last  stretch  of  the  steep 
snow  slope,  across  the  two  miles  of  frozen  river,  and  ran  half 
round  the  wide  horizon-line,  like  creatures  in  a  cage.  Whether 
they  liked  it  or  whether  they  didn't,  for  them  there  was  no  way 
out. 

"It's  the  awful  stillness."  The  Colonel  arraigned  the  distant 
ice-plains. 

They  sat  there  looking,  listening,  as  if  they  hoped  their  pro 
test  might  bring  some  signal  of  relenting.  No  creature,  not 
even  a  crystal-coated  willow-twig,  nothing  on  all  the  ice-bound 
earth  stirred  by  as  much  as  a  hair;  no  mark  of  man  past  or 
present  broke  the  grey  monotony ;  no  sound  but  their  two  voices 
disturbed  the  stillness  of  the  world. 

127 


THE   MAGNETIC   NORTH 

It  was  a  quiet  that  penetrated,  that  pricked  to  vague  alarm. 
Already  both  knew  the  sting  of  it  well. 

"It's  the  kind  of  thing  that  gets  on  a  fella's  nerves,"  said 
the  Colonel.  "I  don't  know  as  I  ever  felt  helpless  in  any  part 
of  the  world  before.  But  a  man  counts  for  precious  little  up 
here.  Do  you  notice  how  you  come  to  listen  to  the  silence?" 

"Oh,  yes,  I've  noticed." 

"Stop."  Again  he  lifted  his  hand,  and  they  strained  their 
ears.  "I've  done  that  by  the  hour  since  you  left  and  the  daft 
gold-diggers  went  up  trail  after  you.  The  other  fellas  feel 
it,  too.  Don't  know  what  we'd  have  done  without  Kaviak. 
Think  we  ought  to  keep  that  kid,  you  know." 

"I  could  get  on  without  Kaviak  if  only  we  had  some  light. 
It's  this  villainous  twilight  that  gets  into  my  head.  All  the 
same,  you  know" — he  stood  up  suddenly — "we  came  expecting 
to  stand  a  lot,  didn't  we?" 

The  elder  man  nodded.  "Big  game,  big  stakes.  It's  all 
right." 

Eventless  enough  after  this,  except  for  the  passing  of  an 
Indian  or  two,  the  days  crawled  by. 

The  Boy  would  get  up  first  in  the  morning,  rake  out  the 
dead  ashes,  put  on  a  couple  of  back-logs,  bank  them  with  ashes, 
and  then  build  the  fire  in  front.  He  broke  the  ice  in  the  water- 
bucket,  and  washed;  filled  coffee-pot  and  mush-kettle  with 
water  (or  ice),  and  swung  them  over  the  fire;  then  he  mixed 
the  corn-bread,  put  it  in  the  Dutch  oven,  covered  it  with  coals, 
and  left  it  to  get  on  with  its  baking.  Sometimes  this  part  of 
the  programme  was  varied  by  his  mixing  a  hoe-cake  on  a  board, 
and  setting  it  up  "to  do"  in  front  of  the  fire.  Then  he  would 
call  the  Colonel — 

"  'Wake  up  Massa, 

De  day  am  breakin'; 
Peas  in  de  pot,  en  de 
Hoe-cake  bakin' '  " — 

for  it  was  the  Colonel's  affair  to  take  up  proceedings  at  this 
point — make  the  coffee  and  the  mush  and  keep  it  from  burn 
ing,  fry  the  bacon,  and  serve  up  breakfast. 

Saturday  brought  a  slight  variation  in  the  early  morning 
routine.  The  others  came  straggling  in,  as  usual,  but  once  a 
week  Mac  was  sure  to  be  first,  for  he  had  to  get  Kaviak  up. 
Mac's  view  of  his  whole  duty  to  man  seemed  to  centre  in  the 

128 


KAVIAK'S    CRIME 

Saturday  scrubbing  of  Kaviak.  Vainly  had  the  Esquimer  stood 
out  against  compliance  with  this  most  repulsive  of  foreign  cus 
toms.  He  seemed  to  be  always  ready  with  some  deep-laid 
scheme  for  turning  the  edge  of  Mac's  iron  resolution.  He 
tried  hiding  at  the  bottom  of  the  bed.  It  didn't  work.  The 
next  time  he  crouched  far  back  under  the  lower  bunk.  He 
was  dragged  out.  Another  Saturday  he  embedded  himself, 
like  a  moth,  in  a  bundle  of  old  clothes.  Mac  shook  him  out. 
He  had  been  very  sanguine  the  day  he  hid  in  the  library.  This 
was  a  wooden  box  nailed  to  the  wall  on  the  right  of  the  door. 
Most  of  the  bigger  books  —  Byron,  Wordsworth,  Dana's 
"Mineralogy,"  and  two  Bibles — he  had  taken  out  and  con 
cealed  in  the  lower  bunk  very  skilfully,  far  back  behind  the 
Colonel's  feet.  Copps's  "Mining"  and  the  two  works  on  "Par 
liamentary  Law"  piled  at  the  end  of  the  box  served  as  a  pillow. 
After  climbing  in  and  folding  himself  up  into  an  incredibly 
small  space,  Kaviak  managed  with  superhuman  skill  to  cover 
himself  neatly  with  a  patchwork  quilt  of  Munsey,  Scribner, 
Century,  Strand,  and  Overland  for  August,  '97.  No  one 
would  suspect,  glancing  into  that  library,  that  underneath  the 
usual  top  layer  of  light  reading,  was  matter  less  august  than 
Law,  Poetry,  Science,  and  Revelation. 

It  was  the  base  Byron,  tipping  the  wink  to  Mac  out  of  the 
back  of  the  bunk,  that  betrayed  Kaviak. 

It  became  evident  that  "Farva"  began  to  take  a  dour  pride 
in  the  Kid's  perseverance.  One  morning  he  even  pointed  out 
to  the  camp  the  strong  likeness  between  Kaviak  and  Robert 
Bruce. 

"No,  sah;  the  Scottish  chief  had  to  have  an  object-lesson, 
but  Kaviak — Lawd! — Kaviak  could  give  points  to  any  spider 
livin'!" 

This  was  on  the  morning  that  the  Esquimer  thought  to 
escape  scrubbing,  even  at  the  peril  of  his  life,  by  getting  up 
on  to  the  swing-shelf — how,  no  man  ever  knew.  But  there 
he  sat  in  terror,  like  a  very  young  monkey  in  a  wind-rocked 
tree,  hardly  daring  to  breathe,  his  arms  clasped  tight  round 
the  demijohn;  but  having  Mac  to  deal  with,  the  end  of  it  was 
that  he  always  got  washed,  and  equally  always  he  seemed  to 
register  a  vow  that,  s'help  him,  Heaven!  it  should  never  hap 
pen  again. 

After  breakfast  came  the  clearing  up.  It  should  have  been 
done  (under  this  regime)  by  the  Little  Cabin  men,  but  it 

129 


THE   MAGNETIC   NORTH 

seldom  was.  O'Flynn  was  expected  to  keep  the  well-hole  in 
the  river  chopped  open  and  to  bring  up  water  every  day.  This 
didn't  always  happen  either,  though  to  drink  snow-water  was 
to  invite  scurvy,  Father  Wills  said.  There  was  also  a  daily 
need,  if  the  Colonel  could  be  believed,  for  everybody  to  chop 
firewood. 

"We  got  enough,"  was  Potts'  invariable  opinion. 

"For  how  long?  S'pose  we  get  scurvy  and  can't  work;  we'd 
freeze  to  death  in  a  fortnight." 

"Never  saw  a  fireplace  swalla  logs  whole  an'  never  blink 
like  this  one." 

"But  you  got  no  objection  to  sittin'  by  while  the  log-swal- 
lerin'  goes  on." 

The  Colonel  or  the  Boy  cooked  the  eternal  beans,  bacon 
and  mush  dinner,  after  whatever  desultory  work  was  done; 
as  a  matter  of  fact,  there  was  extraordinarily  little  to  occupy 
five  able-bodied  men.  The  fun  of  snow-shoeing,  mitigated  by 
frostbite,  quickly  degenerated  from  a  sport  into  a  mere  means 
of  locomotion.  One  or  two  of  the  party  went  hunting,  now 
and  then,  for  the  scarce  squirrel  and  the  shy  ptarmigan.  They 
tried,  with  signal  lack  of  success,  to  catch  fish,  Indian  fashion, 
through  a  hole  in  the  ice. 

But,  for  the  most  part,  as  winter  darkened  round  them,  they 
lounged  from  morning  till  night  about  the  big  fireplace,  and 
smoked,  and  growled,  and  played  cards,  and  lived  as  men  do, 
finding  out  a  deal  about  each  other's  characters,  something 
about  each  other's  opinions,  and  little  or  nothing  about  each 
other's  history. 

In  the  appalling  stillness  of  the  long  Arctic  night,  any  passer 
by  was  hailed  with  enthusiasm,  and  although  the  food-supply 
in  the  Big  Cabin  was  plainly  going  to  run  short  before  spring, 
no  traveller — white,  Indian,  or  Esquimaux — was  allowed  to 
go  by  without  being  warmed  and  fed,  and  made  to  tell  where 
he  came  from  and  whither  he  was  bound — questions  to  tax  the 
sage.  Their  unfailing  hospitality  was  not  in  the  least  unex 
pected  or  unusual,  being  a  virtue  practised  even  by  scoundrels 
in  the  great  North-west;  but  it  strained  the  resources  of  the 
little  camp,  a  fourth  of  whose  outfit  lay  under  the  Yukon  ice. 

In  the  state  of  lowered  vitality  to  which  the  poor,  ill-cooked 
food,  the  cold  and  lack  of  exercise,  was  slowly  reducing  them, 
they  talked  to  one  another  less  and  less  as  time  went  on,  and 
more  and  more — silently  and  each  against  his  will — grew 

130 


KAVIAK'S    CRIME 

hyper-sensitive  to  the  shortcomings  and  even  to  the  innocent 
"ways"  of  the  other  fellow. 

Not  Mac's  inertia  alone,  but  his  trick  of  sticking  out  his  jaw 
became  an  offence,  his  rasping  voice  a  torture.  The  Boy's  occa 
sional  ebullition  of  spirits  was  an  outrage,  the  Colonel's  mere 
size  intolerable.  O'Flynn's  brogue,  which  had  amused  them, 
grew  to  be  just  part  of  the  hardship  and  barbarism  that  had 
overtaken  them  like  an  evil  dream,  coercing,  subduing  all  the 
forces  of  life.  Only  Kaviak  seemed  likely  to  come  unscathed 
through  the  ordeal  of  the  winter's  captivity;  only  he  could  take 
the  best  place  at  the  fire,  the  best  morsel  at  dinner,  and  not 
stir  angry  passions;  only  he  dared  rouse  Mac  when  the  Nova 
Scotian  fell  into  one  of  his  bear-with-a-sore-head  moods.  Ka 
viak  put  a  stop  to  his  staring  angrily  by  the  hour  into  the  fire, 
and  set  him  to  whittling  out  boats  and  a  top,  thereby  providing 
occupation  for  the  morrow,  since  it  was  one  man's  work  to 
break  Kaviak  of  spinning  the  one  on  the  table  during  meal 
time,  and  sailing  the  other  in  the  drinking-water  bucket  at  all 
times  when  older  eyes  weren't  watching.  The  Colonel  wrote 
up  his  journal,  and  read  the  midsummer  magazines  and  Byron, 
in  the  face  of  Mac's  "I  do  not  like  Byron's  thought;  I  do  not 
consider  him  healthy  or  instructive."  In  one  of  his  more  ener 
getic  moods  the  Colonel  made  a  four-footed  cricket  for  Kaviak, 
who  preferred  it  to  the  high  stool,  and  always  sat  on  it  except 
at  meals. 

Once  in  a  while,  when  for  hours  no  word  had  been  spoken 
except  some  broken  reference  to  a  royal  flush  or  a  jack-pot,  or 
O'Flynn  had  said,  "Bedad!  I'll  go  it  alone,"  or  Potts  had  in 
quired  anxiously,  "Got  the  joker?  Guess  I'm  euchred,  then," 
the  Boy  in  desperation  would  catch  up  Kaviak,  balance  the 
child  on  his  head,  or  execute  some  other  gymnastic,  soothing 
the  solemn  little  heathen's  ruffled  feelings,  afterwards,  by  croon 
ing  out  a  monotonous  plantation  song.  It  was  that  kind  of 
addition  to  the  general  gloom  that,  at  first,  would  fire  O'Flynn 
to  raise  his  own  spirits,  at  least,  by  roaring  out  an  Irish  ditty. 
But  this  was  seldomer  as  time  went  on.  Even  Jimmie's  brogue 
suffered,  and  grew  less  robust. 

In  a  depressed  sort  of  way  Mac  was  openly  teaching  Kaviak 
his  letters,  and  surreptitiously,  down  in  the  Little  Cabin,  his 
prayers.  He  was  very  angry  when  Potts  and  O'Flynn  eaves 
dropped  and  roared  at  Kaviak's  struggles  with  "Ow  Farva." 
In  fact,  Kaviak  did  not  shine  as  a  student  of  civilisation,  though 


THE   MAGNETIC   NORTH 

that  told  less  against  him  with  O'Flynn,  than  the  fact  that  he 
wasn't  ''jolly  and  jump  about,  like  white  children."  More 
over,  Jimmie,  swore  there  was  something  "bogey"  about  the 
boy's  intermittent  knowledge  of  English.  Often  for  days  he 
would  utter  nothing  but  "Farva"  or  "Maw"  when  he  wanted 
his  plate  replenished,  then  suddenly  he  would  say  something 
that  nobody  could  remember  having  taught  him  or  even  said 
in  his  presence. 

It  was  not  to  be  denied  that  Kaviak  loved  sugar  mightily, 
and  stole  it  when  he  could.  Mac  lectured  him  and  slapped  his 
minute  yellow  hands,  and  Kaviak  stole  it  all  the  same.  When 
he  was  bad — that  is,  when  he  had  eaten  his  daily  fill  of  the 
camp's  scanty  store  (in  such  a  little  place  it  was  not  easy  to 
hide  from  such  a  hunter  as  Kaviak) — he  was  taken  down  to 
the  Little  Cabin,  smacked,  and  made  to  say  "Ow  Farva." 
Nobody  could  discover  that  he  minded  much,  though  he  learnt 
to  try  to  shorten  the  ceremony  by  saying  "I  solly"  all  the  way 
to  the  cabin. 

As  a  rule  he  was  strangely  undemonstrative;  but  in  his  own 
grave  little  fashion  he  conducted  life  with  no  small  intelligence, 
and  learned,  with  an  almost  uncanny  quickness,  each  man's 
uses  from  the  Kaviak  point  of  view.  The  only  person  he 
wasn't  sworn  friends  with  was  the  handy-man,  and  there  came 
to  be  a  legend  current  in  the  camp,  that  Kaviak's  first  attempt 
at  spontaneously  stringing  a  sentence  under  that  roof  was,  "Me 
got  no  use  for  Potts." 

The  best  thing  about  Kaviak  was  that  his  was  no  craven 
soul.  He  was  obliged  to  steal  the  sugar  because  he  lived  with 
white  people  who  were  bigger  than  he,  and  who  always  took 
it  away  when  they  caught  him.  But  once  the  sugar  was  safe 
under  his  shirt,  he  owned  up  without  the  smallest  hesitation, 
and  took  his  smacking  like  a  man.  For  the  rest,  he  flourished, 
filled  out,  and  got  as  fat  as  a  seal,  but  never  a  whit  less  solemn. 

One  morning  the  Colonel  announced  that  now  the  days  had 
grown  so  short,  and  the  Trio  were  so  late  coming  to  breakfast, 
and  nobody  did  any  work  to  speak  of,  it  would  be  a  good  plan 
to  have  only  two  meals  a  day. 

The  motion  was  excessively  unpopular,  but  it  was  carried  by 
a  plain,  and  somewhat  alarming,  exposition  of  the  state  of 
supplies. 

"We  oughtn't  to  need  as  much  food  when  we  lazy  round  the 

132 


KAVIAK'S   CRIME 

fire  all  day,"  said  the  Colonel.  But  Potts  retorted  that  they'd 
need  a  lot  more  if  they  went  on  adoptin'  the  aborigines. 

They  knocked  off  supper,  and  all  but  the  aborigine  knew 
what  it  meant  sometimes  to  go  hungry  to  bed. 

Towards  the  end  of  dinner  one  day  late  in  December,  when 
everybody  else  had  finished  except  for  coffee  and  pipe,  the 
aborigine  held  up  his  empty  plate. 

"Haven't  you  had  enough?"  asked  the  Colonel  mildly,  sur 
prised  at  Kaviak's  bottomless  capacity. 

"Maw."     Still  the  plate  was  extended. 

"There  isn't  a  drop  of  syrup  left,"  said  Potts,  who  had 
drained  the  can,  and  even  wiped  it  out  carefully  with  halves 
of  hot  biscuit. 

"He  don't  really  want  it." 

"Mustn't  open  a  fresh  can  till  to-morrow." 

"No,  siree.     We've  only  got " 

"Besides,  he'll  bust." 

Kaviak  meanwhile,  during  this  paltry  discussion,  had  stood 
up  on  the  high  stool  "Farva"  had  made  for  him,  and  personally 
inspected  the  big  mush-pot.  Then  he  turned  to  Mac,  and, 
pointing  a  finger  like  a  straw  (nothing  could  fatten  those  in 
finitesimal  hands),  he  said  gravely  and  fluently: 

"Maw  in  de  plenty-bowl." 

"Yes,  maw  mush,  but  no  maw  syrup." 

The  round  eyes  travelled  to  the  store  corner. 

"We'll  have  to  open  a  fresh  can  some  time — what's  the 
odds?" 

Mac  got  up,  and  not  only  Kaviak  watched  him — for  syrup 
was  a  luxury  not  expected  every  day — every  neck  had  craned, 
every  pair  of  eyes  had  followed  anxiously  to  that  row  of  rap 
idly  diminishing  tins,  all  that  was  left  of  the  things  they  all 
liked  best,  and  they  still  this  side  of  Christmas ! 

"What  you  rubber-neckin'  about?"  Mac  snapped  at  the  Boy 
as  he  came  back  with  the  fresh  supply.  This  unprovoked  attack 
was  ample  evidence  that  Mac  was  uneasy  under  the  eyes  of 
the  camp — angry  at  his  own  weakness,  and  therefore  the 
readier  to  dare  anybody  to  find  fault  with  him. 

"How  can  I  help  watchin'  you?"  said  the  Boy.  Mac  lifted 
his  eyes  fiercely.  "I'm  fascinated  by  your  winnin'  ways;  we're 
all  like  that."" 

Kaviak  had  meanwhile  made  a  prosperous  voyage  to  the 
plenty-bowl,  and  returned  to  Mac's  side — an  absurd  little  fig- 

133 


THE   MAGNETIC   NORTH 

ure  in  a  strange  priest-like  cassock  buttoned  from  top  to  bot 
tom  (a  waistcoat  of  Mac's),  and  a  jacket  of  the  Boy's,  which 
was  usually  falling  off  (and  trailed  on  the  ground  when  it 
wasn't),  and  whose  sleeves  were  rolled  up  in  inconvenient 
muffs.  Still,  with  a  gravity  that  did  not  seem  impaired  by 
these  details,  he  stood  clutching  his  plate  anxiously  with  both 
hands,  while  down  upon  the  corn-mush  descended  a  slender 
golden  thread,  manipulated  with  a  fine  skill  to  make  the  most 
of  its  sweetness.  It  curled  and  spiralled,  and  described  the 
kind  of  involved  and  long-looped  flourishes  which  the  grave 
and  reverend  of  a  hundred  years  ago  wrote  jauntily  under 
neath  the  most  sober  names. 

Lovingly  the  dark  eyes  watched  the  engrossing  process.  Even 
when  the  attenuated  thread  was  broken,  and  the  golden  rain 
descended  in  slow,  infrequent  drops,  Kaviak  stood  waiting,  al 
ways  for  just  one  drop  more. 

"That's  enough,  greedy." 

"Now  go  away  and  gobble." 

But  Kaviak  daintily  skimmed  off  the  syrupy  top,  and  left  his 
mush  almost  as  high  a  hill  as  before. 

It  wasn't  long  after  the  dinner-things  had  been  washed  up, 
and  the  Colonel  settled  down  to  the  magazines — he  was  read 
ing  the  advertisements  now — that  Potts  drew  out  his  watch. 

"Golly!  do  you  fellers  know  what  o'clock  it  is?"  He  held 
the  open  timepiece  up  to  Mac.  "Hardly  middle  o'  the  after 
noon.  All  these  hours  before  bedtime,  and  nothin'  to  eat  till 
to-morrow !" 

"Why,  you've  just  finished " 

"But  look  at  the  time!" 

The  Colonel  said  nothing.  Maybe  he  had  been  a  little  pre 
vious  with  dinner  to-day;  it  was  such  a  relief  to  get  it  out  of 
the  way.  Oppressive  as  the  silence  was,  the  sound  of  Potts's 
voice  was  worse,  and  as  he  kept  on  about  how  many  hours  it 
would  be  till  breakfast,  the  Colonel  said  to  the  Boy: 

"  'Johnny,  get  your  gun,'  and  we'll  go  out." 

In  these  December  days,  before  the  watery  sun  had  set,  the 
great,  rich-coloured  moon  arose,  having  now  in  her  resplendent 
fulness  quite  the  air  of  snuffing  out  the  sun.  The  pale  and 
heavy-eyed  day  was  put  to  shame  by  this  brilliant  night-lamp, 
that  could  cast  such  heavy  shadows,  and  by  which  men  might 
read. 

The  instant  the  Big  Cabin  door  was  opened  Kaviak  darted 

134 


KAVIAK'S    CRIME 

out  between  the  Colonel's  legs,  threw  up  his  head  like  a  Siwash 
dog,  sniffed  at  the  frosty  air  and  the  big  orange  moon,  flung 
up  his  heels,  and  tore  down  to  the  forbidden,  the  fascinating 
fish-hole.  If  he  hadn't  got  snared  in  his  trailing  coat  he  would 
have  won  that  race.  When  the  two  hunters  had  captured 
Kaviak,  and  shut  him  indoors,  they  acted  on  his  implied  sug 
gestion  that  the  fish-trap  ought  to  be  examined.  They  chopped 
away  the  fresh-formed  ice.  Empty,  as  usual. 

It  had  been  very  nice,  and  neighbourly,  of  Nicholas,  as  long 
ago  as  the  ist  of  December,  to  bring  the  big,  new,  cornucopia- 
shaped  trap  down  on  his  sled  on  the  wray  to  the  Ikogimeut 
festival.  It  had  taken  a  long  time  to  cut  through  the  thick 
ice,  to  drive  in  the  poles,  and  fasten  the  slight  fencing,  in  such 
relation  to  the  mouth  of  the  sunken  trap,  that  all  well-con 
ducted  fish  ought  easily  to  find  their  way  thither.  As  a  matter 
of  fact,  they  didn't.  Potts  said  it  was  because  the  Boy  was 
always  hauling  out  the  trap  "to  see";  but  what  good  would 
it  be  to  have  it  full  of  fish  and  not  know? 

They  had  been  out  about  an  hour  when  the  Colonel  brought 
down  a  ptarmigan,  and  said  he  was  ready  to  go  home.  The 
Boy  hesitated. 

"Going  to  give  in,  and  cook  that  bird  for  supper?" 

It  was  a  tempting  proposition,  but  the  Colonel  said,  rather 
sharply:  "No,  sir.  Got  to  keep  him  for  a  Christmas  turkey." 

"Well,  I'll  just  see  if  I  can  make  it  a  brace." 

The  Colonel  went  home,  hung  his  trophy  outside  to  freeze, 
and  found  the  Trio  had  decamped  to  the  Little  Cabin.  He 
glanced  up  anxiously  to  see  if  the  demijohn  was  on  the  shelf. 
Yes,  and  Kaviak  sound  asleep  in  the  bottom  bunk.  The 
Colonel  would  climb  up  and  have  forty  winks  in  the  top  one 
before  the  Boy  got  in  for  their  game  of  chess.  He  didn't  know 
how  long  he  had  slept  when  a  faint  scratching  pricked  through 
the  veil  of  slumber,  and  he  said  to  himself,  "Kaviak's  on  a 
raid  again,"  but  he  was  too  sodden  with  sleep  to  investigate. 
Just  before  he  dropped  off  again,  however,  opening  a  heavy  eye, 
he  saw  Potts  go  by  the  bunk,  stop  at  the  door  and  listen.  Then 
he  passed  the  bunk  again,  and  the  faint  noise  recommenced. 
The  Colonel  dropped  back  into  the  gulf  of  sleep,  never  even 
woke  for  his  chess,  and  in  the  morning  the  incident  had  passed 
out  of  his  mind. 

Just  before  dinner  the  next  day  the  Boy  called  out: 

135 


THE   MAGNETIC   NORTH 

"See  here!  who's  spilt  the  syrup?" 

"Spilt  it?" 

"Syrup?" 

"No;  it  don't  seem  to  be  spilt,  either."  He  patted  the 
ground  with  his  hand. 

"You  don't  mean  that  new  can " 

"Not  a  drop  in  it."     He  turned  it  upside  down. 

Every  eye  went  to  Kaviak.  He  was  sitting  on  his  cricket  by 
the  fire  waiting  for  dinner.  He  returned  the  accusing  looks  of 
the  company  with  self-possession. 

"Come  here."     He  got  up  and  trotted  over  to  "Farva." 

"Have  you  been  to  the  syrup?" 

Kaviak  shook  his  head. 

"You  must  have  been." 

"No." 

"You  sure?" 

He  nodded. 

"How  did  it  go — all  away — do  you  know?" 

Again  the  silent  denial.  Kaviak  looked  over  his  shoulder  at 
the  dinner  preparations,  and  then  went  back  to  his  cricket.  It 
was  the  best  place  from  which  to  keep  a  strict  eye  on  the  cook. 

"The  gintlemin  don't  feel  conversaytional  wid  a  pint  o'  sur- 
rup  in  his  inside." 

"I  tell  you  he'd  be  curried  up  with  colic  if  he " 

"Well,"  said  O'Flynn  hopefully,  "bide  a  bit.  He  ain't  look- 
in'  very  brash." 

"Come  here." 

Kaviak  got  up  a  second  time,  but  with  less  alacrity. 

"Have  you  got  a  pain?" 

He  stared. 

"Does  it  hurt  you  there?"     Kaviak  doubled  up  suddenly. 

"He's  awful  ticklish,"  said  the  Boy. 

Mac  frowned  with  perplexity,  and  Kaviak  retired  to  the 
cricket. 

"Does  the  can  leak  anywhere?" 

"That  excuse  won't  hold  water  'cause  the  can  will."  The 
Colonel  had  just  applied  the  test. 

"Besides,  it  would  have  leaked  on  to  something,"  Mac  agreed. 

"Oh,  well,  let's  mosy  along  with  our  dinner,"  said  Potts. 

"It's  gettin'  pretty  serious,"  remarked  the  Colonel.  "We 
can't  afford  to  lose  a  pint  o'  syrup." 

"No,  Siree,  we  can't;  but  there's  one  thing  about  Kaviak," 

136 


KAVIAK'S    CRIME 

said  the  Boy,  "he  always  owns  up.  Look  here,  Kiddie:  don't 
say  no ;  don't  shake  your  head  till  you've  thought.  Now,  think 
hard." 

Kaviak's  air  of  profound  meditation  seemed  to  fill  every 
requirement. 

"Did  you  take  the  awful  good  syrup  and  eat  it  up?" 

Kaviak  was  in  the  middle  of  a  head-shake  when  he  stopped 
abruptly.  The  Boy  had  said  he  wasn't  to  do  that.  Nobody 
had  seemed  pleased  when  he  said  "No." 

"I  b'lieve  we're  on  the  right  track.  He's  remembering. 
Think  again.  You  are  a  tip-top  man  at  finding  sugar,  aren't 
you?" 

"Yes,  fin'  shugh."  Kaviak  modestly  admitted  his  prowess  in 
that  direction. 

"And  you  get  hungry  in  the  early  morning?" 

Yes,  he  would  go  so  far  as  to  admit  that  he  did. 

"You  go  skylarkin'  about,  and  you  remember — the  syrup 
can!  And  you  get  hold  of  it — didn't  you?" 

"To-malla." 

"You  mean  yesterday — this  morning?" 

"N " 

"Sh!" 

Kaviak  blinked. 

"Wait  and  think.  Yesterday  this  was  full.  You  remember 
Mac  opened  it  for  you?" 

Kaviak  nodded. 

"And  now,  you  see" — he  turned  the  can  bottom  side  up — 
"all  gone!" 

"Oh-h!"  murmured  Kaviak  with  an  accent  of  polite  regret. 
Then,  with  recovered  cheerfulness,  he  pointed  to  the  store  cor 
ner:  "Maw!" 

Potts  laughed  in  his  irritating  way,  and  Mac's  face  got  red. 
Things  began  to  look  black  for  Kaviak. 

"Say,  fellas,  see  here!"  The  Boy  hammered  the  lid  on  the 
can  with  his  fist,  and  then  held  it  out.  "It  was  put  away  shut 
up,  for  I  shut  it,  and  even  one  of  us  can't  get  that  lid  off  with 
out  a  knife  or  something  to  pry  it." 

The  company  looked  at  the  small  hands  doubtfully.  They 
were  none  too  little  for  many  a  forbidden  feat.  How  had  he 
got  on  the  swing-shelf?  How 

"Ye  see,  crayther,  it  must  uv  been  yersilf,  becuz  there  isn't 
annybuddy  else." 

137 


THE   MAGNETIC   NORTH 

"Look  here,"  said  the  Colonel,  "we'll  forgive  you  this  time 
if  you'll  own  up.  Just  tell  us " 

"Kaviak!"  Again  that  journey  from  the  cricket  to  the  judg 
ment-seat. 

"Show  us" — Mac  had  taken  the  shut  tin,  and  now  held  it 
out — "show  us  how  you  got  the  lid  off." 

But  Kaviak  turned  away.  Mac  seized  him  by  the  shoulder 
and  jerked  him  round. 

Everyone  felt  it  to  be  suspicious  that  Kaviak  was  unwilling 
even  to  try  to  open  the  all  too  attractive  can.  Was  he  really 
cunning,  and  did  he  want  not  to  give  himself  away?  Wasn't 
he  said  to  be  much  older  than  he  looked?  and  didn't  he  some 
times  look  a  hundred,  and  wise  for  his  years? 

"See  here:  I  haven't  caught  you  in  a  lie  yet,  but  if  I  do " 

Kaviak  stared,  drew  a  long  breath,  and  seemed  to  retire 
within  himself. 

"You'd  better  attend  to  me,  for  I  mean  business." 

Kaviak,  recalled  from  internal  communing,  studied  "Farva" 
a  moment,  and  then  retreated  to  the  cricket,  as  to  a  haven  now, 
hastily  and  with  misgiving,  tripping  over  his  trailing  coat. 
Mac  stood  up. 

"Wait,  old  man."  The  Colonel  stooped  his  big  body  till  he 
was  on  a  level  with  the  staring^  round  eyes.  "Yo'  see,  child, 
yo'  can't  have  any  dinnah  till  we  find  out  who  took  the  syrup." 

The  little  yellow  face  was  very  serious.  He  turned  and 
looked  at  the  still  smoking  plenty-bowl. 

"Are  yoh  hungry?" 

He  nodded,  got  up  briskly,  held  up  his  train,  and  dragged 
his  high  stool  to  the  table,  scrambled  up,  and  established  him 
self. 

"Look  at  that!"  said  the  Colonel  triumphantly.  "That 
youngster  hasn't  just  eaten  a  pint  o'  syrup." 

Mac  was  coming  slowly  up  behind  Kaviak  with  a  face  that 
nobody  liked  looking  at. 

"Oh,  let  the  brat  alone,  and  let's  get  to  our  grub!"  said 
Potts,  with  an  extreme  nervous  irritation. 

Mac  swept  Kaviak  off  the  stool.     "You  come  with  me!" 

Only  one  person  spoke  after  that  till  the  meal  was  nearly 
done.  That  one  had  said,  "Yes,  Farva,"  and  followed  Mac, 
dinnerless,  out  to  the  Little  Cabin. 

The  Colonel  set  aside  a  plateful  for  each  of  the  two  absent 

138 


KAVIAK'S    CRIME 

ones,  and  cleared  away  the  things.  Potts  stirred  the  fire  in 
a  shower  of  sparks,  picked  up  a  book  and  flung  it  down, 
searched  through  the  sewing-kit  for  something  that  wasn't  lost, 
and  then  went  to  the  door  to  look  at  the  weather — so  he  said. 
O'Flynn  sat  dozing  by  the  fire.  He  was  in  the  way  of  the 
washing-up. 

"Stir  your  stumps,  Jimmie,"  said  the  Colonel,  "and  get  us 
a  bucket  of  water."  Sleepily  O'Flynn  gave  it  as  his  opinion 
that  he'd  be  damned  if  he  did. 

With  unheard-of  alacrity,  "I'll  go,"  said  Potts. 

The  Colonel  stared  at  him,  and,  by  some  trick  of  the  brain, 
he  had  a  vision  of  Potts  listening  at  the  door  the  night  before, 
and  then  resuming  that  clinking,  scratching  sound  in  the  cor 
ner — the  store  corner. 

"Hand  me  over  my  parki,  will  you?"  Potts  said  to  the  Boy. 
He  pulled  it  over  his  head,  picked  up  the  bucket,  and  went  out. 

"Seems  kind  o'  restless,  don't  he?" 

"Yes.    Colonel " 

"Hey?" 

"NothinV 

Ten  minutes — a  quarter  of  an  hour  went  by. 

"Funny  Mac  don't  come  for  his  dinner,  isn't  it?  S'pose  I 
go  and  look  'em  up?" 

"S'pose  you  do." 

Not  far  from  the  door  he  met  Mac  coming  in. 

"Well?"  said  the  Boy,  meaning,  Where's  the  kid? 

"Well?"  Mac  echoed  defiantly.  "I  lammed  him,  as  I'd 
have  lammed  Robert  Bruce  if  he'd  lied  to  me." 

The  Boy  stared  at  this  sudden  incursion  into  history,  but  all 
he  said  was:  "Your  dinner's  waitin'." 

The  minute  Mac  got  inside  he  looked  round  hungrily  for 
the  child.  Not  seeing  him,  he  went  over  and  scrutinised  the 
tumbled  contents  of  the  bunks. 

"Where's  Kaviak?" 

"P'raps  you'll  tell  us." 

"You  mean  he  isn't  here?"     Mac  wheeled  round  sharply. 

"Htref" 

"He  didn't  come  back  here  for  his  dinner?" 

"Haven't  seen  him  since  you  took  him  out."  Mac  made  for 
the  door.  The  Boy  followed. 

"Kaviak!"  each  called  in  turn.  It  was  quite  light  enough  to 
see  if  he  were  anywhere  about,  although  the  watery  sun  had 

139 


THE   MAGNETIC   NORTH 

sunk  full  half  an  hour  before.  The  fantastically  huge  full- 
moon  hung  like  a  copper  shield  on  a  steel-blue  wall. 

"Do  you  see  anything?"  whispered  Mac. 

"No." 

"Who's  that  yonder?" 

"Potts  gettin'  water." 

The  Boy  was  bending  down  looking  for  tracks.  Mac  looked, 
too,  but  ineffectually,  feverishly. 

"Isn't  Potts  calling?" 

"I  knew  he  would  if  he  saw  us.  He's  never  carried  a 
bucket  uphill  yet  without  help.  See,  there  are  the  Kid's  tracks 
going.  We  must  find  some  turned  the  other  way." 

They  were  near  the  Little  Cabin  now. 

"Here!"  shouted  the  Boy;  "and  .  .  .  yes,  here  again!" 
And  so  it  was.  Clean  and  neatly  printed  in  the  last  light  snow 
fall  showed  the  little  footprints.  "We're  on  the  right  trail 
now.  Kaviak !" 

Through  his  parki  the  Boy  felt  a  hand  close  vise-like  on  his 
shoulder,  and  a  voice,  not  like  MacCann's: 

"Goin'  straight  down  to  the  fish-trap  hole!" 

The  two  dashed  forward,  down  the  steep  hill,  the  Boy  say 
ing  breathless  as  they  went:  "And  Potts — where's  Potts?" 

He  had  vanished,  but  there  was  no  time  to  consider  how  or 
where. 

"Kaviak!" 

"Kaviak!"    And  as  they  got  to  the  river: 

"Think  I  hear " 

"So  do  I " 

"Coming!  coming!     Hold  on  tight!     Coming,  Kaviak!" 

They  made  straight  for  the  big  open  fish-hole.  Farther  away 
from  the  Little  Cabin,  and  nearer  the  bank,  was  the  small 
well-hole.  Between  the  two  they  noticed,  as  they  raced  by,  the 
water-bucket  hung  on  that  heavy  piece  of  driftwood  that  had 
frozen  aslant  in  the  river.  Mac  saw  that  the  bucket-rope  was 
taut,  and  that  it  ran  along  the  ice  and  disappeared  behind  the 
big  funnel  of  the  fish-trap. 

The  sound  was  unmistakable  now — a  faint,  choked  voice 
calling  out  of  the  hole,  "Help!" 

"Coming!" 

"Hold  tight!" 

"Half  a  minute!" 

And  how  it  was  done  or  who  did  it  nobody  quite  knew, 

140 


KAVIAK'S    CRIME 

but  Potts,  still  clinging  by  one  hand  to  the  bucket-rope,  was 
hauled  out  and  laid  on  the  ice  before  it  was  discovered  that 
he  had  Kaviak  under  his  arm — Kaviak,  stark  and  unconscious, 
with  the  round  eyes  rolled  back  till  one  saw  the  whites  and 
nothing  more. 

Mac  picked  the  body  up  and  held  it  head  downwards;  laid 
it  flat  again,  and,  stripping  off  the  great  sodden  jacket,  already 
beginning  to  freeze,  fell  to  putting  Kaviak  through  the  action 
of  artificial  breathing. 

"We  must  get  them  up  to  the  cabin  first  thing,"  said  the 
Boy. 

But  Mac  seemed  not  to  hear. 

"Don't  you  see  Kaviak's  face  is  freezing?" 

Still  Mac  paid  no  heed.  Potts  lifted  a  stiff,  uncertain  hand, 
and,  with  a  groan,  let  it  fall  heavily  on  his  own  cheek. 

"Come  on;  I'll  help  you  in,  anyhow,  Potts." 

"Can't  walk  in  this  damned  wet  fur." 

With  some  difficulty  having  dragged  off  Potts'  soaked  parki, 
already  stiffening  unmanageably,  the  Boy  tried  to  get  him  on 
his  feet. 

"Once  you're  in  the  cabin  you're  all  right." 

But  the  benumbed  and  miserable  Potts  kept  his  eyes  on 
Kaviak,  as  if  hypnotised  by  the  strange  new  death-look  in  the 
little  face. 

"Well,  I  can't  carry  you  up,"  said  the  Boy;  and  after  a 
second  he  began  to  rub  Potts  furiously,  glancing  over  now  and 
then  to  see  if  Kaviak  was  coming  to,  while  Mac,  dumb  and 
tense,  laboured  on  without  success.  Potts,  under  the  Boy's 
ministering,  showed  himself  restored  enough  to  swear  feebly. 

"H'ray!  my  man's  comin'  round.  How's  yours?"  No  an 
swer,  but  he  could  see  that  the  sweat  poured  off  Mac's  face  as 
he  worked  unceasingly  over  the  child.  The  Boy  pulled  Potts 
into  a  sitting  posture.  It  was  then  that  Mac,  without  looking 
up,  said: 

"Run  and  get  whiskey.    Run  like  hell!" 

When  he  got  back  with  the  Colonel  and  the  whiskey, 
O'Flynn  floundering  in  the  distance,  Potts  was  feebly  striking 
his  breast  with  his  arms,  and  Mac  still  bent  above  the  motion 
less  little  body. 

They  tried  to  get  some  of  the  spirit  down  the  child's  throat, 
but  the  tight-clenched  teeth  seemed  to  let  little  or  nothing  pass. 
The  stuff  ran  down  towards  his  ears  and  into  his  neck.  But 

141 


THE   MAGNETIC   NORTH 

Mac  persisted,  and  went  on  pouring,  drop  by  drop,  whenever 
he  stopped  trying  to  restore  the  action  of  the  lungs.  O'Flynn 
just  barely  managed  to  get  "a  swig"  for  Potts  in  the  interval, 
though  they  all  began  to  feel  that  Mac  was  working  to  bring 
back  something  that  had  gone  for  ever.  The  Boy  went  and 
bent  his  face  down  close  over  the  rigid  mouth  to  feel  for  the 
breath.  When  he  got  up  he  turned  away  sharply,  and  stood 
looking  through  tears  into  the  fish-hole,  saying  to  himself, 
"Yukon  Inua  has  taken  him." 

"He  was  in  too  long."  Potts'  teeth  were  chattering,  and  he 
looked  unspeakably  wretched.  "When  my  arm  got  numb  I 
couldn't  keep  his  head  up;"  and  he  swallowed  more  whiskey. 
"You  fellers  oughtn't  to  have  left  that  damn  trap  up !" 

"What's  that  got  to  do  with  it?"  said  the  Boy  guiltily. 

"Kaviak  knew  it  ought  to  be  catchin'  fish.  When  I  came 
down  he  was  cryin'  and  pullin'  the  trap  backwards  towards 
the  hole.  Then  he  slipped." 

"Come,  Mac,"  said  the  Colonel  quietly,  "let's  carry  the  lit 
tle  man  to  the  cabin." 

"No,  no,  not  yet;  stuffy  heat  isn't  what  he  wants;"  and  he 
worked  on. 

They  got  Potts  up  on  his  feet. 

"I  called  out  to  you  fellers.     Didn't  you  hear  me?" 

"Y-yes,  but  we  didn't  understand." 

"Well,  you'd  better  have  come.  It's  too  late  now."  O'Flynn 
half  dragged,  half  carried  him  up  to  the  cabin,  for  he  seemed 
unable  to  walk  in  his  frozen  trousers.  The  Colonel  and  the 
Boy  by  a  common  impulse  went  a  little  way  in  the  opposite 
direction  across  the  ice. 

"What  can  we  do,  Colonel?" 

"Nothing.     It's  not  a  bit  o'  use."     They  turned  to  go  back. 

"Well,  the  duckin'  will  be  good  for  Potts'  parki,  anyhow," 
said  the  Boy  in  an  angry  and  unsteady  voice. 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"When  he  asked  me  to  hand  it  to  him  I  nearly  stuck  fast 
to  it.  It's  all  over  syrup ;  and  we  don't  wear  furs  at  our  meals." 

^Tchah!"     The  Colonel  stopped  with  a  face  of  loathing. 

"Yes,  he  was  the  only  one  of  us  that  didn't  bully  the  kid 
to-day." 

"Couldn't  go  that  far,  but  couldn't  own  up." 

[Potts  is  a  cur." 

"Yes,  sah."  Then,  after  an  instant's  reflection:  "But  he's 

142 


KAVIAK'S   CRIME 

a  cur  that  can  risk  his  life  to  save  a  kid  he  don't  care  a 
damn  for." 

They  went  back  to  Mac,  and  found  him  pretty  well  worn 
out.  The  Colonel  took  his  place,  but  was  soon  pushed  away. 
Mac  understood  better,  he  said;  had  once  brought  a  chap 
round  that  everybody  said  was  .  .  .  dead.  He  wasn't 
dead.  The  great  thing  was  not  to  give  in. 

A  few  minutes  after,  Kaviak's  eyelids  fluttered,  and  came 
down  over  the  upturned  eyeballs.  Mac,  with  a  cry  that 
brought  a  lump  to  the  Colonel's  throat,  gathered  the  child  up 
in  his  arms  and  ran  with  him  up  the  hill  to  the  cabin. 


Three  hours  later,  when  they  were  all  sitting  round  the  fire, 
Kaviak  dosed,  and  warm,  and  asleep  in  the  lower  bunk,  the 
door  opened,  and  in  walked  a  white  man  followed  by  an  Indian. 

"I'm  George  Benham."  They  had  all  heard  of  the  Anvik 
trader,  a  man  of  some  wealth  and  influence,  and  they  made 
him  welcome. 

The  Indian  was  his  guide,  he  said,  and  he  had  a  team  out 
side  of  seven  dogs.  He  was  going  to  the  steamship  Oklahoma 
on  some  business,  and  promised  Father  Wills  of  Holy  Cross 
that  he'd  stop  on  the  way,  and  deliver  a  letter  to  Mr. 
MacCann. 

"Stop  on  the  way!     I  should  think  so." 

"We  were  goin'  to  have  supper  to-night,  anyhow,  and  you'll 
stay  and  sleep  here." 

All  Mac's  old  suspicions  of  the  Jesuits  seemed  to  return 
with  the  advent  of  that  letter. 

"I'll  read  it  presently."  He  laid  it  on  the  mantel-shelf,  be 
tween  the  sewing-kit  and  the  tobacco-can,  and  he  looked  at  it, 
angrily,  every  now  and  then,  while  he  helped  to  skin  Mr.  Ben- 
ham.  That  gentleman  had  thrown  back  his  hood,  pulled  off 
his  great  moose-skin  gauntlets  and  his  beaver-lined  cap,  and 
now,  with  a  little  help,  dragged  the  drill  park!  over  his  head, 
and  after  that  the  fine  lynx-bordered  deer-skin,  standing  re 
vealed  at  last  as  a  well-built  fellow,  of  thirty-eight  or  so,  in 
a  suit  of  mackinaws,  standing  six  feet  two  in  his  heelless  sal 
mon-skin  snow-boots. 

"Bring  in  my  traps,  will  you?"  he  said  to  the  Indian,  and 
then  relapsed  into  silence.  The  Indian  reappeared  with  his 
arms  full. 


THE   MAGNETIC   NORTH 

"Fine  lot  o'  pelts  you  have  there,"  said  the  Colonel. 

Benham  didn't  answer.  He  seemed  to  be  a  close-mouthed 
kind  of  a  chap.  As  the  Indian  sorted  and  piled  the  stuff  in 
the  corner,  Potts  said: 

"Got  any  furs  you  want  to  sell?" 

"No." 

"Where  you  takin'  Jem?" 

"Down  to  the  Oklahoma." 

"All  this  stuff  for  Cap'n  Rainey?" 

Benham  nodded. 

"I  reckon  there's  a  mistake  about  the  name,  and  he's  Cap'n 
Tom  Thumb  or  Commodore  Nutt."  The  Boy  had  picked  up 
a  little  parki  made  carefully  of  some  very  soft  dark  fur  and 
trimmed  with  white  rabbit,  the  small  hood  bordered  with 
white  fox. 

"That's  a  neat  piece  of  work,"  said  the  Colonel. 

Benham  nodded.  "One  of  the  Shageluk  squaws  can  do  that 
sort  of  thing." 

"What's  the  fur?" 

"Musk-rat."  And  they  talked  of  the  weather — how  the 
mercury  last  week  had  been  solid  in  the  trading-post  ther 
mometer,  so  it  was  "over  forty  degrees,  anyhow." 

"What's  the  market  price  of  a  coat  like  that?"  Mac  said 
suddenly. 

"That  isn't  a  'market'  coat.  It's  for  a  kid  of  Rainey 's  back 
in  the  States." 

Still  Mac  eyed  it  enviously. 

"What  part  of  the  world  are  you  from,  sir?"  said  the  Colo 
nel  when  they  had  drawn  up  to  the  supper  table. 

"San  Francisco.  Used  to  teach  numskulls  Latin  and  mathe 
matics  in  the  Las  Palmas  High  School." 

"What's  the  value  of  a  coat  like  that  little  one?"  interrupted 
Mac. 

"Oh,  about  twenty  dollars." 

"The  Shageluks  ask  that  much?" 

Benham  laughed.  "If  you  asked  the  Shageluks,  they'd  say 
forty." 

"You've  been  some  time  in  this  part  of  the  world,  I  under 
stand,"  said  the  Colonel. 

"Twelve  years." 

"Without  going  home?" 

"Been  home  twice.  Only  stayed  a  month.  Couldn't 
stand  it." 

144 


KAVIAK'S   CRIME 

"I'll  give  you  twenty-two  dollars  for  that  coat,"  said  Mac. 

"I've  only  got  that  one,  and  as  I  think  I  said " 

"I'll  give  you  twenty-four." 

"It's  an  order,  you  see.     Rainey " 

"I'll  give  you  twenty-six." 

Benham  shook  his  head. 

"Sorry.  Yes,  it's  queer  about  the  hold  this  country  gets  on 
you.  The  first  year  is  hell,  the  second  is  purgatory,  with 
glimpses  ...  of  something  else.  The  third — well,  more 
and  more,  forever  after,  you  realise  the  North's  taken  away 
any  taste  you  ever  had  for  civilisation.  That's  when  you've 
got  the  hang  of  things  up  here,  when  you've  learned  not  to 
stay  in  your  cabin  all  the  time,  and  how  to  take  care  of  your 
self  on  the  trail.  But  as  for  going  back  to  the  boredom  of 
cities — no,  thank  you." 

Mac  couldn't  keep  his  eyes  off  the  little  coat.  Finally,  to 
enable  him  to  forget  it,  as  it  seemed,  he  got  up  and  opened 
Father  Wills'  letter,  devoured  its  contents  in  silence,  and  flung 
it  down  on  the  table.  The  Colonel  took  it  up,  and  read  aloud 
the  Father's  thanks  for  all  the  white  camp's  kindness  to  Kaviak, 
and  now  that  the  sickness  was  about  gone  from  Holy  Cross, 
how  the  Fathers  felt  that  they  must  relieve  their  neighbours 
of  further  trouble  with  the  little  native. 

"I've  said  I'd  take  him  back  with  me  when  I  come  up  river 
about  Christmas." 

"We'd  be  kind  oj  lost,  now,  without  the  little  beggar,"  said 
the  Boy,  glancing  sideways  at  Mac. 

"There's  nothin'  to  be  got  by  luggin'  him  off  to  Holy 
Cross,"  answered  that  gentleman  severely. 

"Unless  it's  clo'es,"  said  Potts. 

"He's  all  right  in  the  clo'es  he's  got,"  said  Mac,  with  the  air 
of  one  who  closes  an  argument.  He  stood  up,  worn  and  tired, 
and  looked  at  his  watch. 

"You  ain't  goin'  to  bed  this  early?"  said  Potts,  quite  lively 
and  recovered  from  his  cold  bath.  That  was  the  worst  of 
sleeping  in  the  Little  Cabin.  Bedtime  broke  the  circle;  you 
left  interesting  visitors  behind,  and  sometimes  the  talk  was 
better  as  the  night  wore  on. 

"Well,  someone  ought  to  wood  up  down  yonder.  O'Flynn, 
will  you  go?" 

O'Flynn  was  in  the  act  of  declining  the  honour.  But  Ben- 
ham,  who  had  been  saying,  "It  takes  a  year  in  the  Yukon  for 

145 


THE   MAGNETIC   NORTH 

a  man  to  get  on  to  himself,"  interrupted  his  favourite  theme 
to  ask:  "Your  other  cabin  like  this?" 

Whereon,  O'Flynn,  shameless  of  the  contrast  in  cabins, 
jumped  up,  and  said:  "Come  and  see,  while  I  wood  up." 

"You're  very  well  fixed  here,"  said  Benham,  rising  and 
looking  round  with  condescension;  "but  men  like  you  oughtn't 
to  try  to  live  without  real  bread.  No  one  can  live  and  work 
on  baking-powder." 

There  was  a  general  movement  to  the  door,  of  which  Ben- 
ham  was  the  centre. 

"I  tell  you  a  lump  of  sour  dough,  kept  over  to  raise  the 
next  batch,  is  worth  more  in  this  country  than  a  pocket  full 
of  gold." 

"I'll  give  you  twenty-eight  for  that  musk-rat  coat,"  said  Mac. 

Benham  turned,  stared  back  at  him  a  moment,  and  then 
laughed. 

"Oh,  well,  I  suppose  I  can  get  another  made  for  Rainey  be 
fore  the  first  boat  goes  down." 

"Then  is  it  on  account  o'  the  bread,"  the  Colonel  was  say 
ing,  "that  the  old-timer  calls  himself  a  Sour-dough?" 

"All  on  account  o'  the  bread." 

They  crowded  out  after  Benham. 

"Coming?"  The  Boy,  who  was  last,  held  the  door  open. 
Mac  shook  his  head. 

It  wasn't  one  of  the  bitter  nights;  they'd  get  down  yonder, 
and  talk  by  the  fire,  till  he  went  in  and  disturbed  them.  That 
was  all  he  had  wanted.  For  Mac  was  the  only  one  who  had 
noticed  that  Kaviak  had  waked  up.  He  was  lying  as  still  as 
a  mouse. 

Alone  with  him  at  last,  Mac  kept  his  eyes  religiously  turned 
away,  sat  down  by  the  fire,  and  watched  the  sparks.  By-and- 
by  a  head  was  put  up  over  the  board  of  the  lower  bunk.  Mac 
saw  it,  but  sat  quite  still. 

"Farva." 

He  meant  to  answer  the  appeal,  half  cleared  his  throat,  but 
his  voice  felt  rusty;  it  wouldn't  turn  out  a  word. 

Kaviak  climbed  timidly,  shakily  out,  and  stood  in  the  mid 
dle  of  the  floor  in  his  bare  feet. 

"Farva!" 

He  came  a  little  nearer  till  the  small  feet  sank  into  the 
rough  brown  curls  of  the  buffalo.  The  child  stooped  to  pick 
up  his  wooden  cricket,  wavered,  and  was  about  to  fall.  Mac 

146 


KAVIAK'S   CRIME 

shot  out  a  hand,  steadied  him  an  instant  without  looking,  and 
then  set  the  cricket  in  front  of  the  fire.  He  thereupon  averted 
his  face,  and  sat  as  before  with  folded  arms.  He  hadn't  de 
liberately  meant  to  make  Kaviak  be  the  first  to  "show  his  hand" 
after  all  that  had  happened,  but  something  had  taken  hold  of 
him  and  made  him  behave  as  he  hadn't  dreamed  of  behaving. 
It  was,  perhaps,  a  fear  of  playing  the  fool  as  much  as  a  deter 
mination  to  see  how  much  ground  he'd  lost  with  the  youngster. 

The  child  was  observing  him  with  an  almost  feverish  in 
tensity.  With  eyes  fixed  upon  the  wooden  face  to  find  out  how 
far  he  might  venture,  shakily  he  dragged  the  cricket  from 
where  Mac  placed  it,  closer,  closer,  and  as  no  terrible  change 
in  the  unmoved  face  warned  him  to  desist,  he  pulled  it  into 
its  usual  evening  position  between  Mac's  right  foot  and  the 
fireplace.  He  sank  down  with  a  sigh  of  relief,  as  one  who 
finishes  a  journey  long  and  perilous.  The  fire  crackled  and  the 
sparks  flew  gaily.  Kaviak  sat  there  in  the  red  glow,  dressed 
only  in  a  shirt,  staring  with  incredulous,  mournful  eyes  at  the 
Farva  who  had 

Then,  as  Mac  made  no  sign,  he  sighed  again,  and  held  out 
two  little  shaky  hands  to  the  blaze. 

Mac  gave  out  a  sound  between  a  cough  and  a  snort,  and 
wiped  his  eyes  on  the  back  of  his  hand. 

Kaviak  had  started  nervously. 

"You  cold?"  asked  Mac. 

Kaviak  nodded 

"Hungry?" 

He  nodded  again,  and  fell  to  coughing. 

Mac  got  up  and  brought  the  newly  purchased  coat  to  the  fire. 

"It's  for  you,"  he  said,  as  the  child's  big  eyes  grew  bigger 
with  admiration. 

"Me?  Me  own  coat?"  He  stood  up,  and  his  bare  feet 
fluttered  up  and  down  feebly,  but  with  huge  delight. 

As  the  parki  was  held  ready  the  child  tumbled  dizzily  into 
it,  and  Mac  held  him  fast  an  instant. 

In  less  than  five  minutes  Kaviak  was  once  more  seated  on 
the  cricket,  but  very  magnificent  now  in  his  musk-rat  coat, 
so  close  up  to  Mac  that  he  could  lean  against  his  arm,  and 
eating  out  of  a  plenty-bowl  on  his  knees  a  discreet  spoonful 
of  mush  drowned  in  golden  syrup — a  supper  for  a  Sultan  if 
only  there  had  been  more! 

When  he  had  finished,  he  set  the  bowl  down,  and,  as  a 

147 


THE   MAGNETIC   NORTH 

puppy  might,  he  pushed  at  Mac's  arm  till  he  found  a  way  in, 
laid  his  head  down  on  "Farva's"  knee  with  a  contented  sigh,  and 
closed  his  heavy  eyes. 

Mac  put  his  hand  on  the  cropped  head  and  began: 

"About  that  empty  syrup-can " 

Kaviak  started  up,  shaking  from  head  to  foot.  Was  the 
obscure  nightmare  coming  down  to  crush  him  again? 

Mac  tried  to  soothe  him.  But  Kaviak,  casting  about  for 
charms  to  disarm  the  awful  fury  of  the  white  man — able  to 
endure  with  dignity  any  reverse  save  that  of  having  his  syrup 
spilt — cried  out: 

"I  solly — solly.     Our  Farva " 

"I'm  sorry,  too,  Kaviak,"  Mac  interrupted,  gathering  the 
child  up  to  him ;  "and  we  won't  either  of  us  do  it  any  more." 


I48 


CHAPTER   VIII 

CHRISTMAS 

"Himlen  morkner,  mens  Jordens  Trakt 
Straaler  lys  som  i  Stjernedragt. 
Himlen  er  bleven  Jordens  Gjaest 
Snart  er  det  Julens  sode  Fest." 

IT  had  been  moved,  seconded,  and  carried  by  acclamation  that 
they  should  celebrate  Christmas,  not  so  much  by  a  feast  of 

reason  as  by  a  flow  of  soul  and  a  bang-up  dinner,  to  be  fol 
lowed  by  speeches  and  some  sort  of  cheerful  entertainment. 

"We're  goin'  to  lay  ourselves  out  on  this  entertainment," 
said  the  Boy,  with  painful  misgivings  as  to  the  "bang-up  din 
ner." 

Every  time  the  banquet  was  mentioned  somebody  was  sure  to 
say,  "Well,  anyhow,  there's  Potts's  cake,"  and  that  reflection 
never  failed  to  raise  the  tone  of  expectation,  for  Potts's  cake  was 
a  beauty,  evidently  very  rich  and  fruity,  and  fitted  by  Nature 
to  play  the  noble  part  of  plum-pudding.  But,  in  making  out 
the  bill  of  fare,  facts  had  to  be  faced.  "We've  got  our  every 
day  little  rations  of  beans  and  bacon,  and  we've  got  Potts's  cake, 
and  we've  got  one  skinny  ptarmigan  to  make  a  banquet  for  six 
hungry  people!" 

"But  we'll  have  a  high  old  time,  and  if  the  bill  o'  fare  is  a 
little  .  .  .  restricted,  there's  nothin'  to  prevent  our  pro 
gramme  of  toasts,  songs,  and  miscellaneous  contributions  from 
bein'  rich  and  varied." 

"And  one  thing  we  can  get,  even  up  here" — the  Colonel  was 
looking  at  Kaviak — "and  that's  a  little  Christmas-tree." 

"Y-yes,"  said  Potts,  "you  can  get  a  little  tree,  but  you  can't 
get  the  smallest  kind  of  a  little  thing  to  hang  on  it." 

"Sh!"  said  the  Boy,  "it  must  be  a  surprise." 

And  he  took  steps  that  it  should  be,  for  he  began  stealing 
away  Kaviak's  few  cherished  possessions — his  amulet,  his  top 
from  under  the  bunk,  his  boats  from  out  the  water-bucket, 
wherewith  to  mitigate  the  barrenness  of  the  Yukon  tree,  and 

149 


THE   MAGNETIC   NORTH 

to  provide  a  pleasant  surprise  for  the  Esquimer  who  mourned 
his  playthings  as  gone  for  ever.  Of  an  evening  now,  after  sleep 
had  settled  on  Kaviak's  watchful  eyes,  the  Boy  worked  at  a 
pair  of  little  snow-shoes,  helped  out  by  a  ball  of  sinew  he  had 
got  from  Nicholas.  Mac  bethought  him  of  the  valuable  com 
bination  of  zoological  and  biblical  instruction  that  might  be 
conveyed  by  means  of  a  Noah's  Ark.  He  sat  up  late  the  last 
nights  before  the  25th,  whittling,  chipping,  pegging  in  legs, 
sharpening  beaks,  and  inking  eyes,  that  the  more  important 
animals  might  be  ready  for  the  Deluge  by  Christmas. 

The  Colonel  made  the  ark,  and  O'Flynn  took  up  a  collection 
to  defray  the  expense  of  the  little  new  mucklucks  he  had  ordered 
from  Nicholas.  They  were  to  come  "sure  by  Christmas  Eve," 
and  O'Flynn  was  in  what  he  called  "a  froightful  fanteeg"  as 
the  short  day  of  the  24th  wore  towards  night,  and  never  a  sign 
of  the  one-eyed  Pymeut.  Half  a  dozen  times  O'Flynn  had 
gone  beyond  the  stockade  to  find  out  if  he  wasn't  in  sight,  and 
finally  came  back  looking  intensely  disgusted,  bringing  a  couple 
of  white  travellers  who  had  arrived  from  the  opposite  direc 
tion  ;  very  cold,  one  of  them  deaf,  and  with  frost-bitten  feet, 
and  both  so  tired  they  could  hardly  speak.  Of  course,  they 
were  made  as  comfortable  as  was  possible,  the  frozen  one 
rubbed  with  snow  and  bandaged,  and  both  given  bacon  and 
corn-bread  and  hot  tea. 

"You  oughtn't  to  let  yourself  get  into  a  state  like  this,"  said 
Mac,  thinking  ruefully  of  these  strangers'  obvious  inability  to 
travel  for  a  day  or  two,  and  of  the  Christmas  dinner,  to  which 
Benham  alone  had  been  bidden,  by  a  great  stretch  of  hospitality. 

"That's  all  very  well,"  said  the  stranger,  who  shouted  when 
he  talked  at  all,  "but  how's  a  man  to  know  his  feet  are  going 
to  freeze?" 

"Ye  see,  sorr,"  O'Flynn  explained  absent-mindedly,  "Misther 
MacCann  didn't  know  yer  pardner  was  deaf." 

This  point  of  view  seemed  to  thaw  some  of  the  frost  out  of 
the  two  wayfarers.  They  confided  that  they  were  Salmon  P. 
Hardy  and  Bill  Schiff,  fellow-passengers  in  the  Merwin, 
"locked  in  the  ice  down  below,"  and  they'd  mined  side  by  side 
back  in  the  States  at  Cripple  Creek.  "Yes,  sir,  and  sailed  for 
the  Klondyke  from  Seattle  last  July."  And  now  at  Christmas 
they  were  hoping  that,  with  luck,  they  might  reach  the  new 
Minook  Diggings,  seven  hundred  miles  this  side  of  the  Klon 
dyke,  before  the  spring  rush.  During  this  recital  O'Flynn 
kept  rolling  his  eyes  absently. 

150 


CHRISTMAS 

"Theyse  a  quare  noise  without." 

"It's  the  wind  knockin'  down  yer  chimbly,"  says  Mr.  Hardy 
encouragingly. 

"It  don't  sound  like  Nich'las,  annyhow.  May  the  divil  burrn 
him  in  tarment  and  ile  fur  disappoyntin'  th'  kid." 

A  rattle  at  the  latch,  and  the  Pymeut  opened  the  door. 

"Lorrd  love  ye!  ye're  a  jool,  Nich'las!"  screamed  O'Flynn; 
and  the  mucklucks  passed  from  one  to  the  other  so  surrepti 
tiously  that  for  all  Kaviak's  wide-eyed  watchfulness  he  detected 
nothing. 

Nicholas  supped  with  his  white  friends,  and  seemed  bent  on 
passing  the  night  with  them.  He  had  to  be  bribed  with  to 
bacco  and  a  new  half-dollar  to  go  home  and  keep  Christmas  in 
the  bosom  of  his  family.  And  still,  at  the  door,  he  hesitated, 
drew  back,  and  laid  the  silver  coin  on  the  table. 

"No.     It  nights." 

"But  it  isn't  really  dark." 

"Pretty  soon  heap  dark." 

"Why,  I  thought  you  natives  could  find  your  way  day  or 
night?" 

"Yes.     Find  way." 

"Then  what's  the  matter?" 

"Pymeut  no  like  dark;"  and  it  was  not  until  Mac  put  on  his 
own  snow-shoes  and  offered  to  go  part  of  the  way  with  him  that 
Nicholas  was  at  last  induced  to  return  home. 

The  moment  Kaviak  was  ascertained  to  be  asleep,  O'Flynn 
displayed  the  mucklucks.  No  mistake,  they  were  dandies !  The 
Boy  hung  one  of  them  up,  by  its  long  leg,  near  the  child's  head 
at  the  side  of  the  bunk,  and  then  conferred  with  O'Flynn. 

"The  Colonel's  made  some  little  kind  o'  sweet-cake  things 
for  the  tree.  I  could  spare  you  one  or  two." 

"Divil  a  doubt  Kaviak  '11  take  it  kindly,  but  furr  mesilf  I'm 
thinkin'  a  pitaty's  a  dale  tastier." 

There  was  just  one  left  in  camp.  It  had  rolled  behind  the 
flour-sack,  and  O'Flynn  had  seized  on  it  with  rapture.  Where 
everybody  was  in  such  need  of  vegetable  food,  nobody  under 
estimated  the  magnificence  of  O'Flynn's  offering,  as  he  pushed 
the  pitaty  down  into  the  toe  of  the  muckluck. 

"Sure,  the  little  haythen  '11  have  a  foine  Christian  Christmas 
wid  that  same  to  roast  in  the  coals,  begorra!"  and  they  all  went 
to  bed  save  Mac,  who  had  not  returned,  and  the  Boy,  who 
put  on  his  furs,  and  went  up  the  hill  to  the  place  where  he  kept 
the  Christmas-tree  lodged  in  a  cotton-wood. 


THE   MAGNETIC   NORTH 

He  shook  the  snow  off  its  branches,  brought  it  down  to  the 
cabin,  decorated  it,  and  carried  it  back. 


Mac,  Salmon  P.  Hardy,  and  the  frost-bitten  Schiff  were 
waked,  bright  and  early  Christmas  morning,  by  the  Boy's 
screaming  with  laughter. 

The  Colonel  looked  down  over  the  bunk's  side,  and  the  men 
on  the  buffalo-skin  looked  up,  and  they  all  saw  Kaviak  sitting 
in  bed,  holding  in  one  hand  an  empty  muckluck  by  the  toe, 
and  in  the  other  a  half-eaten  raw  potato. 

"Keep  the  rest  of  it  to  roast,  anyhow,  or  O'Flynn's  heart 
will  be  broken." 

So  they  deprived  Kaviak  of  the  gnawed  fragment,  and  con 
soled  him  by  helping  him  to  put  on  his  new  boots. 

When  the  Little  Cabin  contingent  came  in  to  breakfast, 
"Hello!  what  you  got  up  on  the  roof?"  says  Potts. 

"Foot  of  earth  and  three  feet  o'  snow!" 

"But  what's  in  the  bundle!" 

"Bundle?"  echoes  the  Boy. 

"If  you  put  a  bundle  on  the  roof,  I  s'pose  you  know  what's 
in  it,"  says  the  Colonel  severely. 

The  occupants  of  the  two  cabins  eyed  each  other  with  good- 
humoured  suspicion. 

"Thank  you,"  says  the  Boy,  "but  we're  not  takin'  any  bun 
dles  to-day." 

"Call  next  door,"  advised  the  Colonel. 

"You  think  we're  tryin'  to  jolly  you,  but  just  go  out  and 
see  for  yourself " 

"No,  sir,  you've  waked  the  wrong  passenger!" 

"They're  tryin'  it  on  us"  said  Potts,  and  subsided  into  his 
place  at  the  breakfast-table. 

During  the  later  morning,  while  the  Colonel  wrestled  with  the 
dinner  problem,  the  Boy  went  through  the  thick-falling  snow 
to  see  if  the  tree  was  all  right,  and  the  dogs  had  not  appro 
priated  the  presents.  Half-way  up  to  the  cotton-wood,  he 
glanced  back  to  make  sure  Kaviak  wasn't  following,  and  there, 
sure  enough,  just  as  the  Little  Cabin  men  had  said — there  be 
low  him  on  the  broad-eaved  roof  was  a  bundle  packed  round 
and  nearly  covered  over  with  snow.  He  went  back  eyeing  it 
suspiciously. 

Whatever  it  was,  it  seemed  to  be  done  up  in  sacking,  for  a 

152 


CHRISTMAS 

bit  stuck  out  at  the  corner  where  the  wind  struck  keen.  The 
Boy  walked  round  the  cabin  looking,  listening.  Nobody  had 
followed  him,  or  nothing  would  have  induced  him  to  risk  the 
derision  of  the  camp.  As  it  was,  he  would  climb  up  very  softly 
and  lightly,  and  nobody  but  himself  would  be  the  wiser  even  if 
it  was  a  josh.  He  brushed  away  the  snow,  touching  the  thing 
with  a  mittened  hand  and  a  creepy  feeling  at  his  spine.  It  was 
precious  heavy,  and  hard  as  iron.  He  tugged  at  the  sacking. 
"Jee!  if  I  don't  b'lieve  it's  meat."  The  lid  of  an  old  cardboard 
box  was  bound  round  the  frozen  mass  with  a  string,  and  on  the 
cardboard  was  written:  "Moose  and  Christmas  Greeting 
from  Kaviak's  friends  at  Holy  Cross  to  Kaviak's  friends  by  the 
Big  Chimney." 

"H'ray!  h'ray!  Come  out,  you  fellas!  Hip!  hip!  hurrah!" 
and  the  Boy  danced  a  breakdown  on  the  roof  till  the  others  had 
come  out,  and  then  he  hurled  the  moose-meat  down  over  the 
stockade,  and  sent  the  placard  flying  after.  They  all  gathered 
round  Mac  and  read  it. 

"Be  the  Siven!" 

"Well,  I  swan!" 

"Don't  forget,  Boy,  you're  not  takin'  any." 

"Just  remember,  if  it  hadn't  been  for  me  it  might  have 
stayed  up  there  till  spring." 

"You  run  in,  Kaviak,  or  you'll  have  no  ears." 

But  that  gentleman  pulled  up  his  hood  and  stood  his  ground. 

"How  did  it  get  on  the  roof,  in  the  name  o'  the  nation?" 
asked  the  Colonel,  stamping  his  feet. 

"Never  hear  of  Santa  Claus?  Didn't  I  tell  you,  Kaviak,  he 
drove  his  reindeer  team  over  the  roofs?" 

"Did  you  hear  any  dogs  go  by  in  the  night?" 

"I  didn't;  Nicholas  brought  it,  I  s'pose,  and  was  told  to  cache 
it  up  there.  Maybe  that's  why  he  came  late  to  give  us  a  sur 
prise." 

"Don't  believe  it;  we'd  have  heard  him.  Somebody  from  the 
mission  came  by  in  the  night  and  didn't  want  to  wake  us,  and 
saw  there  were  dogs " 

"It's  froze  too  hard  to  cut,"  interrupted  Salmon  P.  Hardy, 
who  had  been  trying  his  jack-knife  on  one  end ;  "it's  too  big  to 
go  in  any  mortal  pot." 

"And  it'll  take  a  month  to  thaw!" 

They  tried  chopping  it,  but  you  could  more  easily  chop  a 
bolt  of  linen  sheeting.  The  axe  laboriously  chewed  out  little 
bits  and  scattered  shreds. 

153 


THE   MAGNETIC    NORTH 

"Stop!     We'll  lose  a  lot  that  way." 

While  they  were  lamenting  this  fact,  and  wondering  what 
to  do,  the  dogs  set  up  a  racket,  and  were  answered  by  some 
others.  Benham  was  coming  along  at  a  rattling  pace,  his  dogs 
very  angry  to  find  other  dogs  there,  putting  on  airs  of  pos 
session. 

"We  got  all  this  moose-meat,"  says  Potts,  when  Benham 
arrived  on  the  scene,  "but  we  can't  cut  it." 

"Of  course  not.    Where's  your  hand-saw?" 

The  Boy  brought  it,  and  Mr.  Benham  triumphantly  sawed 
off  two  fine  large  steaks.  Kaviak  scraped  up  the  meat  saw-dust 
and  ate  it  with  grave  satisfaction.  With  a  huge  steak  in  each 
hand,  the  Colonel,  beaming,  led  the  procession  back  to  the 
cabin.  The  Boy  and  Mac  cached  the  rest  of  the  moose  on  the 
roof  and  followed. 

"Fine  team,  that  one  o'  yours,"  said  Salmon  P.  Hardy  to  the 
trader.  "You'll  get  to  Minook,  anyhow." 

"Not  me." 

"Hey?" 

"I'm  not  going  that  way." 

"Mean  to  skip  the  country?    Got  cold  feet?" 

"No.  I'm  satisfied  enough  with  the  country,"  said  the 
trader  quietly,  and  acknowledged  the  introduction  to  Mr. 
Schiff,  sitting  in  bandages  by  the  fire. 

Benham  turned  back  and  called  out  something  to  his  guide. 

"I  thought  maybe  you'd  like  some  oysters  for  your  Christmas 
dinner,"  he  said  to  the  Colonel  when  he  came  in  again,  "so  I 
got  a  couple  o'  cans  from  the  A.  C.  man  down  below;"  and  a 
mighty  whoop  went  up. 

The  great  rapture  of  that  moment  did  not,  however,  prevent 
O'Flynn's  saying  under  his  breath: 

"Did  ye  be  chanct,  now,  think  of  bringin'  a  dtrop  o' — hey?" 

"No,"  says  Benham  a  little  shortly. 

"Huh!     Ye  say  that  like's  if  ye  wuz  a  taytotlerr?" 

"Not  me.  But  I  find  it  no  good  to  drink  whiskey  on  the 
trail." 

"Ah!"  says  Salmon  P.  with  interest,  "you  prefer  brandy?" 

"No,"  says  Benham,  "I  prefer  tea." 

"Lorrd,  now!  look  at  that!" 

"Drink  spirit,  and  it's  all  very  fine  and  reviving  for  a  few 
minutes;  but  a  man  can't  work  on  it." 

"It's  the  wan  thing,  sorr,"  says  O'Flynn  with  solemnity — 

154 


CHRISTMAS 

"it's  the  wan  thing  on  the  top  o'  God's  futstool  that  makes  me 
feel  I  cud  wurruk." 

"Not  in  this  climate;  and  you're  safe  to  take  cold  in  the 
reaction." 

"Cowld  is  ut?  Faith,  ye'll  be  tellin'  us  Mr.  Schiff  got  his 
toes  froze  wid  settin'  too  clost  be  the  foire." 

"You  don't  seriously  mean  you  go  on  the  trail  without  any 
alcohol?"  asks  the  Colonel. 

"No,  I  don't  go  without,  but  I  keep  it  on  the  outside  of  me, 
unless  I  have  an  accident." 

Salmon  P.  studied  the  trader  with  curiosity.  A  man  with 
seven  magnificent  dogs  and  a  native  servant,  and  the  finest  furs 
he'd  ever  seen — here  was  either  a  capitalist  from  the  outside  or 
a  man  who  had  struck  it  rich  "on  the  inside." 

"Been  in  long?" 

"Crossed  the  Chilcoot  in  June,  '85." 

"What!  twelve  year  ago?" 

Benham  nodded. 

"Gosh!  then  you've  been  in  the  Klondyke?" 

"Not  since  the  gold  was  found." 

"And  got  a  team  like  that  'n  outside,  and  not  even  goin'  to 
Minook?" 

"Guess  not!" 

What  made  the  feller  so  damn  satisfied  ?  Only  one  explana 
tion  was  possible :  he'd  found  a  mine  without  going  even  as  far 
as  Minook.  He  was  a  man  to  keep  your  eye  on. 

A  goodly  aroma  of  steaming  oysters  and  of  grilling  moose 
arose  in  the  air.  The  Boy  set  up  the  amended  bill  of  fare,  lit 
the  Christmas  candles — one  at  the  top,  one  at  the  bottom  of 
the  board — and  the  Colonel  announced  the  first  course,  though 
it  wasn't  one  o'clock,  and  they  usually  dined  at  four. 

The  soup  was  too  absorbingly  delicious  to  admit  of  conversa 
tion.  The  moose-steaks  had  vanished  like  the  "snaw-wreath  in 
the  thaw"  before  anything  much  was  said,  save: 

"Nothin'  th'  matter  with  moose,  hey?" 

"Nop!     Bet  your  life." 

The  "Salmi  of  ptarmigan"  appeared  as  a  great  wash  of  gravy 
in  which  portions  of  the  much  cut-up  bird  swam  in  vain  for 
their  lives.  But  the  high  flat  rim  of  the  dish  was  plentifully 
garnished  by  fingers  of  corn-bread,  and  the  gravy  was  "galopp- 
shus,"  so  Potts  said. 

Salmon  P.,  having  appeased  the  pangs  of  hunger,  returned 
to  his  perplexed  study  of  Benham. 

155 


THE    MAGNETIC    NORTH 

"Did  I  understand  you  to  say  you  came  into  this  country  to 
prospect?" 

"Came  down  the  Never-Know-What  and  prospected  a  whole 
summer  at  Forty  Mile." 

"What  river  did  you  come  by?" 

"Same  as  you  go  by — the  Yukon.  Indians  up  yonder  call 
it  the  Never-Know-What,  and  the  more  you  find  out  about  it, 
the  better  you  think  the  name." 

"Did  you  do  any  good  at  Forty  Mile?" 

"Not  enough  to  turn  my  head,  so  I  tried  the  Koyukuk — and 
other  diggins  too." 

/  "Hear  that,  Schiff?"  he  roared  at  his  bandaged  friend. 
"Never  say  die !  This  genTman's  been  at  it  twelve  years — tried 
more  'n  one  camp,  but  now — well,  he's  so  well  fixed  he  don't 
care  a  cuss  about  the  Klondyke." 

Schiff  lit  up  and  pulled  hard  at  the  cutty. 

O'Flynn  had  taken  Kaviak  to  the  fire,  and  was  showing  him 
how  to  roast  half  a  petaty  in  wood  ashes ;  but  he  was  listening 
to  the  story  and  putting  in  "Be  the  Siven!"  at  appropriate  mo 
ments. 

Schiff  poured  out  a  cloud  of  rank  smoke. 

"Gen'lemen,"  he  said,  "the  best  Klondyke  claims  '11  be  potted. 
Minook's  the  camp  o'  the  future.  You'd  better  come  along  with 
us." 

"Got  no  dogs,"  sighed  the  Boy;  but  the  two  strangers  looked 
hard  at  the  man  who  hadn't  that  excuse. 

Benham  sat  and  idly  watched  preparations  for  the  next 
course. 

"Say,  a  nabob  like  you  might  give  us  a  tip.  How  did  you  do 
the  trick?" 

"Well,  I'd  been  playing  your  game  for  three  years,  and  no 
galley  slave  ever  worked  half  as  hard " 

"That's  it!  work  like  the  devil  for  a  couple  o'  years  and  then 
live  like  a  lord  for  ever  after." 

"Yes;  well,  when  the  time  came  for  me  to  go  into  the  Lord 
business  I  had  just  forty- two  dollars  and  sixty  cents  to  set  up 
on." 

"What  had  you  done  with  the  rest?" 

"I'd  spent  the  five  thousand  dollars  my  father  left  me,  and 
I'd  cleaned  up  just  forty- two  dollars  sixty  cents  in  my  three 
years'  mining." 

The  announcement  fell  chill  on  the  company. 


CHRISTMAS 

"I  was  dead  broke  and  I  had  no  credit.    I  went  home." 

"But" — Mac  roused  himself — "you  didn't  stay " 

"No,  you  don't  stay — as  a  rule;" — Mac  remembered  Cari 
bou — "get  used  to  this  kind  o'  thing,  and  miss  it.  Miss  it  so 
you » 

"You  came  back,"  says  Salmon  P.,  impatient  of  generalities. 

"And  won  this  time,"  whispered  Schiff. 

For  that  is  how  every  story  must  end.  The  popular  taste  in 
fiction  is  universal. 

"A  friend  at  home  grub-staked  me,  and  I  came  in  again — 
came  down  on  the  high  water  in  June.  Prospected  as  long  as 
my  stuff  lasted,  and  then — well,  I  didn't  care  about  starving,  I 
became  an  A.  C.  Trader." 

A  long  pause.     This  was  no  climax;  everybody  waited. 

"And  now  I'm  on  my  own.  I  often  make  more  money  in  a 
day  trading  with  the  Indians  in  furs,  fish,  and  cord-wood,  than 
I  made  in  my  whole  experience  as  a  prospector  and  miner." 

A  frost  had  fallen  on  the  genial  company. 

"But  even  if  you  hadn't  any  luck,"  the  Boy  suggested,  "you 
must  have  seen  others " 

"Oh,  I  saw  some  washing  gravel  that  kept  body  and  soul 
together,  and  I  saw  some  .  .  .  that  didn't." 

In  the  pause  he  added,  remorseless: 

"I  helped  to  bury  some  of  them." 

"Your  experience  was  unusual,  or  why  do  men  come  back 
year  after  year?" 

"Did  you  ever  hear  of  a  thing  called  Hope?" 

They  moved  uneasily  on  their  stools,  and  some  rubbed  stub 
bly  chins  with  perplexed,  uncertain  fingers,  and  they  all  glow 
ered  at  the  speaker.  He  was  uncomfortable,  this  fellow. 

"Well,  there  mayn't  be  as  much  gold  up  here  as  men  think, 
but  there's  more  hope  than  anywhere  on  earth." 

"To  hell  with  hope;  give  me  certainty,"  says  Salmon  P. 

"Exactly.  So  you  shuffle  the  cards,  and  laugh  down  the  five- 
cent  limit.  You'll  play  one  last  big  game,  and  it'll  be  for  life 
this  time  as  well  as  fortune." 

"Cheerful  cuss,  ain't  he?"  whispered  Schifr. 

"They  say  we're  a  nation  of  gamblers.  Well,  sir,  the  biggest 
game  we  play  is  the  game  that  goes  on  near  the  Arctic  Cir 
cle." 

"What's  the  matter  with  Wall  Street?" 

"  'Tisn't  such  a  pretty  game,  and  they  don't  play  for  their 

157 


THE   MAGNETIC    NORTH 

lives.  I  tell  you  it's  love  of  gambling  brings  men  here,  and  it's 
the  splendid  stiff  game  they  find  going  on  that  keeps  them. 
There's  nothing  like  it  on  earth." 

His  belated  enthusiasm  deceived  nobody. 

"It  don't  seem  to  have  excited  you  much,"  said  Mac. 

"Oh,  I've  had  my  turn  at  it.  And  just  by  luck  I  found  I 
could  play  another — a  safer  game,  and  not  bad  fun  either." 
He  sat  up  straight  and  shot  his  hands  down  deep  in  the  pockets 
of  his  mackinaws.  "I've  got  a  good  thing,  and  I'm  willing  to 
stay  with  it." 

The  company  looked  at  him  coldly. 

"Well,"  drawled  Potts,  "you  can  look  after  the  fur  trade; 
give  me  a  modest  little  claim  in  the  Klondyke." 

"Oh,  Klondyke!  Klondyke!"  Benham  got  up  and  stepped 
over  Kaviak  on  his  way  to  the  fire.  He  lit  a  short  briarwood 
with  a  flaming  stick  and  turned  about.  "Shall  I  tell  you  fel 
lows  a  little  secret  about  the  Klondyke?"  He  held  up  the 
burning  brand  in  the  dim  room  with  telling  emphasis.  The 
smoke  and  flame  blew  black  and  orange  across  his  face  as  he 
said: 

"Every  dollar  that's  taken  out  of  the  Klondyke  in  gold-dust 
will  cost  three  dollars  in  coin." 

A  sense  of  distinct  dislike  to  Benham  had  spread  through  the 
company — a  fellow  who  called  American  enterprise  love  of 
gambling,  for  whom  heroism  was  foolhardy,  and  hope  insane. 
Where  was  a  pioneer  so  bold  he  could  get  up  now  and  toast 
the  Klondyke?  Who,  now,  without  grim  misgiving,  could 
forecast  a  rosy  future  for  each  man  at  the  board?  And  that, 
in  brief,  had  been  the  programme. 

"Oh,  help  the  puddin',  Colonel,"  said  the  Boy  like  one  who 
starts  up  from  an  evil  dream. 

But  they  sat  chilled  and  moody,  eating  plum-pudding  as  if 
it  had  been  so  much  beans  and  bacon.  Mac  felt  Robert  Bruce's 
expensive  education  slipping  out  of  reach.  Potts  saw  his  girl, 
tired  of  waiting,  taking  up  with  another  fellow.  The  Boy's 
Orange  Grove  was  farther  off  than  Florida.  Schiff  and  Hardy 
wondered,  for  a  moment,  who  was  the  gainer  for  all  their  kill 
ing  hardship?  Not  they,  at  present,  although  there  was  the 
prospect — the  hope — oh,  damn  the  Trader! 

The  Colonel  made  the  punch.  O'Flynn  drained  his  cup 
without  waiting  for  the  mockery  of  that  first  toast — To  our 
Enterprise — although  no  one  had  taken  more  interest  in  the 

158 


CHRISTMAS 

programme  than  O'Flynn.  Benham  talked  about  the  Anvik 
saw-mill,  and  the  money  made  in  wood  camps  along  the  river. 
Nobody  listened,  though  everyone  else  sat  silent,  smoking  and 
sulkily  drinking  his  punch. 

Kaviak's  demand  for  some  of  the  beverage  reminded  the 
Boy  of  the  Christmas-tree.  It  had  been  intended  as  a  climax 
to  wind  up  the  entertainment,  but  to  produce  it  now  might  save 
the  situation.  He  got  up  and  pulled  on  his  parki. 

"Back  'n  a  minute."    But  he  was  gone  a  long  time. 

Benham  looked  down  the  toast-list  and  smiled  inwardly,  for 
it  was  Klondyked  from  top  to  bottom.  The  others,  too,  stole 
uneasy  glances  at  that  programme,  staring  them  in  the  face,  un 
abashed,  covertly  ironic — nay,  openly  jeering.  They  actually 
hadn't  noticed  the  fact  before,  but  every  blessed  speech  was 
aimed  straight  at  the  wonderful  gold  camp  across  the  line— 
not  the  Klondyke  of  Benham's  croaking,  but  the  Klondyke  of 
their  dreams. 

Even  the  death's  head  at  the  feast  regretted  the  long  post 
ponement  of  so  spirited  a  programme,  interspersed,  as  it  prom 
ised  to  be,  with  songs,  dances,  and  "tricks,"  and  winding  up 
with  an  original  poem,  "He  won't  be  happy  till  he  gets  it." 

Benham's  Indian  had  got  up  and  gone  out.  Kaviak  had 
tried  to  go  too,  but  the  door  was  slammed  in  his  face.  He 
stood  there  with  his  nose  to  the  crack  exactly  as  a  dog  does. 
Suddenly  he  ran  back  to  Mac  and  tugged  at  his  arm.  Even 
the  dull  white  men  could  hear  an  ominous  snarling  among  the 
Mahlemeuts. 

Out  of  the  distance  a  faint  answering  howl  of  derision  from 
some  enemy,  advancing  or  at  bay.  It  was  often  like  this  when 
two  teams  put  up  at  the  Big  Chimney  Camp. 

"Reckon  our  dogs  are  gettin'  into  trouble,"  said  Salmon  P. 
anxiously  to  his  deaf  and  crippled  partner. 

"It's  nothing,"  says  the  Trader.  "A  Siwash  dog  of  any 
spirit  is  always  trailing  his  coat";  and  Salmon  P.  subsided. 

Not  so  Kaviak.  Back  to  the  door,  head  up,  he  listened. 
They  had  observed  the  oddity  before.  The  melancholy  note 
of  the  Mahlemeut  never  yet  had  failed  to  stir  his  sombre  little 
soul.  He  was  standing  now  looking  up  at  the  latch,  high,  and 
made  for  white  men,  eager,  breathing  fast,  listening  to  that 
dismal  sound  that  is  like  nothing  else  in  nature — listening  as 
might  an  exiled  Scot  to  the  skirl  of  bagpipes;  listening  as  a 
Tyrolese  who  hears  yodelling  on  foreign  hills,  or  as  the  dweller 
in  a  distant  land  to  the  sound  of  the  dear  home  speech. 

159 


THE   MAGNETIC   NORTH 

The  noise  outside  grew  louder,  the  air  was  rent  with  howls 
of  rage  and  defiance. 

"Sounds  as  if  there's  'bout  a  million  mad  dogs  on  your  front 
stoop,"  says  Schiff,  knowing  there  must  be  a  great  deal  going  on 
if  any  of  it  reached  his  ears. 

"You  set  still."  His  pardner  pushed  him  down  on  his  stool. 
"Mr.  Benham  and  I'll  see  what's  up." 

The  Trader  leisurely  opened  the  door,  Salmon  P.  keeping 
modestly  behind,  while  Kaviak  darted  forward  only  to  be 
caught  back  by  Mac.  An  avalanche  of  sound  swept  in — a 
mighty  howling  and  snarling  and  cracking  of  whips,  and  under 
neath  the  higher  clamour,  human  voices — and  in  dashes  the 
Boy,  powdered  with  snow,  laughing  and  balancing  carefully 
in  his  mittened  hands  a  little  Yukon  spruce,  every  needle  dia 
mond-pointed,  every  sturdy  branch  white  with  frost  crystals 
and  soft  woolly  snow,  and  bearing  its  little  harvest  of  curious 
fruit — sweet-cake  rings  and  stars  and  two  gingerbread  men 
hanging  by  pack-thread  from  the  white  and  green  branches,  the 
Noah's  Ark  lodged  in  one  crotch,  the  very  amateur  snow-shoes 
in  another,  and  the  lost  toys  wrapped  up,  transfigured  in  to 
bacco-foil,  dangling  merrily  before  Kaviak's  incredulous  eyes. 

"There's  your  Christmas-tree!"  and  the  bringer,  who  had 
carried  the  tree  so  that  no  little  puff  of  snow  or  delicate  crystal 
should  fall  off,  having  made  a  successful  entrance  and  dazzled 
the  child,  gave  way  to  the  strong  excitement  that  shot  light  out 
of  his  eyes  and  brought  scarlet  into  his  cheeks.  "Here,  take 
it!"  He  dashed  the  tree  down  in  front  of  Kaviak,  and  a  sud 
den  storm  agitated  its  sturdy  branches;  it  snowed  about  the 
floor,  and  the  strange  fruit  whirled  and  spun  in  the  blast. 
Kaviak  clutched  it,  far  too  dazed  to  do  more  than  stare.  The 
Boy  stamped  the  snow  off  his  mucklucks  on  the  threshold,  and' 
dashed  his  cap  against  the  lintel,  calling  out: 

"Come  in !  come  in !  let  the  dogs  fight  it  out."  Behind  him, 
between  the  snow-walls  at  the  entrance,  had  appeared  two 
faces — weather-beaten  men,  crowding  in  the  narrow  space, 
craning  to  see  the  reception  of  the  Christmas-tree  and  the  in 
side  of  the  famous  Big  Chimney  Cabin. 

"These  gentlemen,"  says  the  Boy,  shaking  with  excitement 
as  he  ushered  them  in,  "are  Mr.  John  Dillon  and  General 
Lighter.  They've  just  done  the  six  hundred  and  twenty-five 
miles  from  Minook  with  dogs  over  the  ice!  They've  been 
forty  days  on  the  trail,  and  they're  as  fit  as  fiddles.  An'  no 

1 60 


CHRISTMAS 

wonder,  for  Little  Minook  has  made  big  millionaires  o'  both  o' 
them!" 

Millionaires  or  not,  they'll  never,  either  of  them,  create  a 
greater  sensation  than  they  did  that  Christmas  Day,  in  the  Big 
Chimney  Cabin,  on  the  bleak  hillside,  up  above  the  Never- 
Know-What.  Here  was  Certainty  at  last!  Here  was  Justi 
fication  ! 

Precious  symbols  of  success,  they  were  taken  by  both  hands, 
they  were  shaken  and  wildly  welcomed,  ''peeled,"  set  down  by 
the  fire,  given  punch,  asked  ten  thousand  questions  all  in  a 
breath,  rejoiced  over,  and  looked  up  to  as  glorious  dispellers 
of  doubt,  blessed  saviours  from  despair. 

Schiff  had  tottered  forward  on  bandaged  feet,  hand  round 
ear,  mouth  open,  as  if  to  swallow  whole  whatever  he  couldn't 
hear.  The  Colonel  kept  on  bowing  magnificently  at  intervals 
and  pressing  refreshment,  O'Flynn  slapping  his  thigh  and 
reiterating,  "Be  the  Siven !"  Potts  not  only  widened  his  mouth 
from  ear  to  ear,  but,  as  O'Flynn  said  after,  "stretched  it  clane 
round  his  head  and  tyed  it  up  furr  jy  in  a  nate  knot  behind." 
Benham  took  a  back  seat,  and  when  anybody  remembered  him 
for  the  next  hour  it  was  openly  to  gloat  over  his  discomfiture. 

John  Dillon  was  one  of  those  frontiersmen  rightly  called 
typically  American.  You  see  him  again  and  again — as  a  cow 
boy  in  Texas,  as  a  miner  or  herdsman  all  through  the  Far 
West;  you  see  him  cutting  lumber  along  the  Columbia,  or 
throwing  the  diamond  hitch  as  he  goes  from  camp  to  camp  for 
gold  and  freedom.  He  takes  risks  cheerfully,  and  he  never 
works  for  wages  when  he  can  go  "on  his  own." 

John  Dillon  was  like  the  majority,  tall,  lean,  muscular,  not 
an  ounce  of  superfluous  flesh  on  his  bones,  a  face  almost  gaunt 
in  its  clearness  of  cut,  a  thin  straight  nose,  chin  not  heavy  but 
well  curved  out,  the  eye  orbit  arched  and  deep,  a  frown  fixed 
between  thick  eyebrows,  and  few  words  in  his  firm,  rather  grfm- 
looking  mouth.  He  was  perhaps  thirty-six,  had  been  "in"  ten 
years,  and  had  mined  before  that  in  Idaho.  Under  his  striped 
parki  he  was  dressed  in  spotted  deer-skin,  wore  white  deer-skin 
mucklucks,  Arctic  cap,  and  moose  mittens.  Pinned  on  his  inner 
shirt  was  the  badge  of  the  Yukon  Order  of  Pioneers — a  foot- 
rule  bent  like  the  letter  A  above  a  scroll  of  leaves,  and  in  the 
angle  two  linked  O's  over  Y.  P. 

It  was  the  other  man — the  western  towns  are  full  of  Gen 
eral  Lighters — who  did  the  talking.  An  attorney  from  Seattle, 

161 


THE    MAGNETIC   NORTH 

he  had  come  up  in  the  July  rush  with  very  little  but  bound 
less  assurance,  fell  in  with  an  old  miner  who  had  been  grub 
staked  by  Captain  Rainey  out  of  the  Oklahoma  s  supplies,  and 
got  to  Minook  before  the  river  went  to  sleep. 

"No,  we're  not  pardners  exactly,"  he  said,  glancing  good- 
humouredly  at  Dillon;  "we've  worked  separate,  but  we're  go 
ing  home  two  by  two  like  animals  into  the  Ark.  We've  got  this 
in  common.  We've  both  'struck  ile' — haven't  we,  Dillon?" 

Dillon  nodded. 

"Little  Minook's  as  rich  a  camp  as  Dawson,  and  the  gold's 
of  higher  grade — isn't  it,  Dillon?" 

"That's  right." 

"One  of  the  many  great  advantages  of  Minook  is  that  it's 
the  nearest  place  on  the  river  where  they've  struck  pay  dirt." 
says  the  General.  "And  another  great  advantage  is  that  it's 
on  the  American  side  of  the  line." 

"What  advantage  is  that?"   Mac  grated  out. 

"Just  the  advantage  of  not  having  all  your  hard  earnings 
taken  away  by  an  iniquitous  tax." 

"Look  out!  this  fellas  a  Britisher " 

"Don't  care  if  he  is,  and  no  disrespect  to  you,  sir.  The 
Canadians  in  the  Klondyke  are  the  first  to  say  the  tax  is  noth 
ing  short  of  highway  robbery.  You'll  see!  The  minute  they 
hear  of  gold  across  the  line  there'll  be  a  stampede  out  of  Daw- 
son.  I  can  put  you  in  the  way  of  getting  a  claim  for  eight 
thousand  dollars  that  you  can  take  eighty  thousand  out  of  next 
August,  with  no  inspector  coming  round  to  check  your  clean 
up,  and  no  Government  grabbing  at  your  royalties." 

"Why  aren't  you  taking  out  that  eighty  thousand  yourself?" 
asked  Mac  bluntly. 

"Got  more  'n  one  man  can  handle,"  answered  the  General. 
"Reckon  we've  earned  a  holiday." 

Dillon  backed  him  up. 

"Then  it  isn't  shortage  in  provisions  that  takes  you  out 
side,"  said  the  Boy. 

"Not  much." 

"Plenty  of  food  at  Rampart  City;  that's  the  name  o'  the 
town  where  the  Little  Minook  meets  the  Yukon." 

"Food  at  gold-craze  prices,  I  suppose." 

"No.    Just  about  the  same  they  quote  you  in  Seattle." 

"How  is  that  possible  when  it's  been  carried  four  thousand 
miles?" 

162 


CHRISTMAS 

"Because  the  A.  C.  and  N.  A.  T.  and  T.  boats  got  frozen 
in  this  side  of  Dawson.  They  know  by  the  time  they  get  there 
in  June  a  lot  of  stuff  will  have  come  in  by  the  short  route 
through  the  lakes,  and  the  town  will  be  overstocked.  So  there's 
flour  and  bacon  to  burn  when  you  get  up  as  far  as  Minook.  It's 
only  along  the  Lower  River  there's  any  real  scarcity." 

The  Big  Chimney  men  exchanged  significant  looks. 

"And  there  are  more  supply-boats  wintering  up  at  Fort 
Yukon  and  at  Circle  City,"  the  General  went  on.  "I  tell  you 
on  the  Upper  River  there's  food  to  burn." 

Again  the  Big  Chimney  men  looked  at  one  another.  The 
General  kept  helping  himself  to  punch,  and  as  he  tossed  it  off 
he  would  say,  "Minook's  the  camp  for  me !"  When  he  had  given 
vent  to  this  conviction  three  times,  Benham,  who  hadn't  spoken 
since  their  entrance,  said  quietly: 

"And  you're  going  away  from  it  as  hard  as  you  can  pelt." 

The  General  turned  moist  eyes  upon  him. 

"Are  you  a  man  of  family,  sir?" 

"No." 

"Then  I  cannot  expect  you  to  understand."  His  eyes 
brimmed  at  some  thought  too  fine  and  moving  for  public  utter 
ance. 

Each  member  of  the  camp  sat  deeply  cogitating.  Not  only 
gold  at  Minook,  but  food!  In  the  inner  vision  of  every  eye 
was  a  ship-load  of  provisions  "frozen  in"  hard  by  a  placer 
claim;  in  every  heart  a  fervid  prayer  for  a  dog-team. 

The  Boy  jumped  up,  and  ran  his  fingers  through  his  long 
wild  hair.  He  panted  softly  like  a  hound  straining  at  a  leash. 
Then,  with  an  obvious  effort  to  throw  off  the  magic  of  Minook, 
he  turned  suddenly  about,  and  "Poor  old  Kaviak!"  says  he, 
looking  round  and  speaking  in  quite  an  everyday  sort  of  voice. 

The  child  was  leaning  against  the  door  clasping  the  forgot 
ten  Christmas-tree  so  tight  against  the  musk-rat  coat  that  the 
branches  hid  his  face.  From  time  to  time  with  reverent  finger 
he  touched  silver  boat  and  red-foil  top,  and  watched,  fascinated, 
how  they  swung.  A  white  child  in  a  tenth  of  the  time  would 
have  eaten  the  cakes,  torn  off  the  transfiguring  tinfoil,  tired 
of  the  tree,  and  forgotten  it.  The  Boy  felt  some  compunction 
at  the  sight  of  Kaviak's  steadfast  fidelity. 

"Look  here,  we'll  set  the  tree  up  where  you  can  see  it 
better."  He  put  an  empty  bucket  on  the  table,  and  with  Mac's 
help,  wedged  the  spruce  in  it  firmly,  between  some  blocks  of 
wood  and  books  of  the  law. 

163 


THE   MAGNETIC   NORTH 

The  cabin  was  very  crowded.  Little  Mr.  Schiff  was  sitting 
on  the  cricket.  Kaviak  retired  to  his  old  seat  on  Elephas 
beyond  the  bunks,  where  he  still  had  a  good  view  of  the  won 
derful  tree,  agreeably  lit  by  what  was  left  of  the  two  candles. 

"Those  things  are  good  to  eat,  you  know,"  said  the  Colonel 
kindly. 

Mac  cut  down  a  gingerbread  man  and  gave  it  into  the  tiny 
hands. 

"What  wind  blew  that  thing  into  your  cabin?"  asked  the 
General,  squinting  up  his  snow-blinded  eyes  at  the  dim  corner 
where  Kaviak  sat. 

There  wasn't  a  man  in  the  camp  who  didn't  resent  the 
millionaire's  tone. 

"This  is  a  great  friend  of  ours — ain't  you,  Kaviak?"  said  the 
Boy.  "He's  got  a  soul  above  gold-mines,  haven't  you?  He 
sees  other  fellas  helping  themselves  to  his  cricket  and  his  high 
chair — too  polite  to  object — just  goes  and  sits  like  a  philoso 
pher  on  the  bones  of  dead  devils  and  looks  on.  Other  fellas 
sittin'  in  his  place  talkin'  about  gold  and  drinkin'  punch — never 
ofrerin'  him  a  drop " 

Several  cups  were  held  out,  but  Mac  motioned  them  back. 

"I  don't  think,"  says  John  Dillon  slyly — "don't  think  this 
punch  will  hurt  the  gentleman." 

And  a  roar  went  up  at  the  Colonel's  expense.  General 
Lighter  pulled  himself  to  his  feet,  saying  there  was  a  little 
good  Old  Rye  left  outside,  and  he  could  stock  up  again  when  he 
got  to  the  Oklahoma. 

"Oh,  and  it's  yersilf  that  don't  shoy  off  from  a  dthrop  o'  the 
craythur  whin  yer  thravellin'  the  thrail." 

Everybody  looked  at  Benham.  He  got  up  and  began  to  put 
on  his  furs;  his  dog-driver,  squatting  by  the  door,  took  the 
hint,  and  went  out  to  see  after  the  team. 

"Oh,  well,"  said  the  General  to  O'Flynn,  "it's  Christmas, 
you  know" ;  and  he  picked  his  way  among  the  closely-packed 
company  to  the  door. 

"We  ought  to  be  movin',  too,"  said  Dillon,  straightening 
up.  The  General  halted,  depressed  at  the  reminder.  "You 
know  we  swore  we  wouldn't  stop  again  unless " 

"Look  here,  didn't  you  hear  me  saying  it  was  Christmas?" 

"You  been  sayin'  that  for  twenty-four  hours.  Been  keepin' 
Christmas  right  straight  along  since  yesterday  mornin."  But 
the  General  had  gone  out  to  unpack  the  whisky.  "He  knocked 

164 


CHRISTMAS 

up  the  mission  folks,  bright  and  early  yesterday,  to  tell  'em 
about  the  Glad  News  Tidin's — Diggin's,  I  mean." 

"What  did  they  say?" 

"Weren't  as  good  an  audience  as  the  General's  used  to;  that's 
why  we  pushed  on.  We'd  heard  about  your  camp,  and  the 
General  felt  a  call  to  preach  the  Gospel  accordin'  to  Minook 
down  this  way." 

"He  don't  seem  to  be  standin'  the  racket  as  well  as  you," 
said  SchifL 

"Well,  sir,  this  is  the  first  time  I've  found  him  wantin'  to 
hang  round  after  he's  thoroughly  rubbed  in  the  news." 

Dillon  moved  away  from  the  fire;  the  crowded  cabin  was 
getting  hot. 

Nevertheless  the  Colonel  put  on  more  wood,  explaining  to 
Salmon  P.  and  the  others,  who  also  moved  back,  that  it  was 
for  illuminating  purposes — those  two  candles  burning  down 
low,  each  between  three  nails  in  a  little  slab  of  wood — those 
two  had  been  kept  for  Christmas,  and  were  the  last  they  had. 

In  the  general  movement  from  the  fire,  Benham,  putting  on 
his  cap  and  gloves,  had  got  next  to  Dillon. 

"Look  here,"  said  the  Trader,  under  cover  of  the  talk  about 
candles,  "what  sort  of  a  trip  have  you  had?" 

The  Yukon  pioneer  looked  at  him  a  moment,  and  then  took 
his  pipe  out  of  his  mouth  to  say: 

"Rank." 

"No  fun,  hey?" 

"That's  right."     He  restored  the  pipe,  and  drew  gently. 

"And  yet  to  hear  the  General  chirp " 

"He's  got  plenty  o'  grit,  the  General  has." 

"Has  he  got  gold?" 

Dillon  nodded.    "Or  will  have." 

"Out  of  Minook?" 

"Out  of  Minook." 

"In  a  sort  of  a  kind  of  a  way.  I  think  I  understand."  Ben' 
ham  wagged  his  head.  "He's  talkin'  for  a  market." 

Dillon  smoked. 

"Coin'  out  to  stir  up  a  boom,  and  sell  his  claim  to  some 
sucker." 

The  General  reappeared  with  the  whisky,  stamping  the 
snow  off  his  feet  before  he  joined  the  group  at  the  table,  where 
the  Christmas-tree  was  seasonably  cheek  by  jowl  with  the 
punch-bowl  between  the  low-burnt  candles.  Mixing  the  new 

165 


THE    MAGNETIC   NORTH 

brew  did  not  interrupt  the  General's  ecstatic  references  to 
Minook. 

"Look  here!"  he  shouted  across  to  Mac,  "I'll  give  you  a  lay 
on  my  best  claim  for  two  thousand  down  and  a  small  royalty." 

Mac  stuck  out  his  jaw. 

"I'd  like  to  take  a  look  at  the  country  before  I  deal." 

"Well,  see  here.     When  will  you  go?" 

"We  got  no  dogs." 

"We  have!"  exclaimed  Salmon  P.  and  Schiff  with  one  voice. 

"Well,  I  can  offer  you  fellows " 

"How  many  miles  did  you  travel  a  day?" 

"Sixty,"  said  the  General  promptly. 

"Oh  Lord!"  ejaculated  Benham,  and  hurriedly  he  made  his 
good-byes. 

"What's  the  matter  with  youf"  demanded  the  General  with 
dignity. 

"I'm  only  surprised  to  hear  Minook's  twenty-four  hundred 
miles  away." 

"More  like  six  hundred,"  says  the  Colonel. 

"And  you've  been  forty  days  coming,  and  you  cover  sixty 
miles  a  day Good-bye,"  he  laughed,  and  was  gone. 

"Well— a "     The  General  looked   round. 

"Travelin'  depends  on  the  weather."  Dillon  helped  him 
out. 

"Exactly.  Depends  on  the  weather,"  echoed  the  General. 
"You  don't  get  an  old  Sour-dough  like  Dillon  to  travel  at  forty 
degrees." 

"How  are  you  to  know?"  whispered  Schiff. 

"Tie  a  little  bottle  o'  quick  to  your  sled,"  answered  Dillon. 

"Bottle  o'  what?"  asked  the  Boy. 

"Quicksilver — mercury,"  interpreted  the  General. 

"No  dog-puncher  who  knows  what  he's  about  travels  when 
his  quick  goes  dead." 

"If  the  stuff's  like  lead  in  your  bottle "     The  General 

stopped  to  sample  the  new  brew.  In  the  pause,  from  the  far 
side  of  the  cabin  Dillon  spat  straight  and  clean  into  the  heart 
of  the  coals. 

"Well,  what  do  you  do  when  the  mercury  freezes?"  asked  the 
Boy. 

"Camp,"  said  Dillon  impassively,  resuming  his  pipe. 

"I  suppose,"  the  Boy  went  on  wistfully — "I  suppose  you  met 
men  all  the  way  making  straight  for  Minook?" 

1 66 


CHRISTMAS 

"Only  on  this  last  lap." 

"They  don't  get  far,  most  of  'em." 

"But  .  .  .  but  it's  worth  trying!"  the  Boy  hurried  to 
bridge  the  chasm. 

The  General  lifted  his  right  arm  in  the  attitude  of  the  orator 
about  to  make  a  telling  hit,  but  he  was  hampered  by  having  a 
mug  at  his  lips.  In  the  pause,  as  he  stood  commanding  atten 
tion,  at  the  same  time  that  he  swallowed  half  a  pint  of  liquor, 
he  gave  Dillon  time  leisurely  to  get  up,  knock  the  ashes  out  of 
his  pipe  stick  it  in  his  belt,  put  a  slow  hand  behind  him  towards 
his  pistol  pocket,  and  bring  out  his  buckskin  gold  sack.  Now, 
only  Mac  of  the  other  men  had  ever  seen  a  miner's  purse  before, 
but  every  one  of  the  four  cheechalkos  knew  instinctively  what  it 
was  that  Dillon  held  so  carelessly.  In  that  long,  narrow  bag, 
like  the  leg  of  a  child's  stocking,  was  the  stuff  they  had  all  come 
seeking. 

The  General  smacked  his  lips,  and  set  down  the  granite  cup. 

"That's  the  argument,"  he  said.    "Got  a  noospaper?" 

The  Colonel  looked  about  in  a  flustered  way  for  the  tattered 
San  Francisco  Examiner;  Potts  and  the  Boy  hustled  the  punch 
bowl  on  to  the  bucket  board,  recklessly  spilling  some  of  the 
precious  contents.  O'Flynn  and  Salmon  P.  whisked  the  Christ 
mas  tree  into  the  corner,  and  not  even  the  Boy  remonstrated 
when  a  gingerbread  man  broke  his  neck,  and  was  trampled 
under  foot. 

"Quick!  the  candles  are  going  out!"  shouted  the  Boy,  and  in 
truth  each  wick  lay  languishing  in  a  little  island  of  grease,  now 
flaring  bravely,  now  flickering  to  dusk.  It  took  some  time  to 
find  in  the  San  Francisco  Examiner  of  August  7  a  foot  square 
space  that  was  whole.  But  as  quickly  as  possible  the  best  bit 
was  spread  in  the  middle  of  the  table.  Dillon,  in  tHe  breath 
less  silence  having  slowly  untied  the  thongs,  held  his  sack  aslant 
between  the  two  lights,  and  poured  out  a  stream — nuggets  and 
coarse  bright  gold. 

The  crowd  about  the  table  drew  audible  breath.  Nobody 
actually  spoke  at  first,  except  O'Flynn,  who  said  reverently: 
"Be — the  Siven!  Howly  Pipers! — that  danced  at  me — gran'- 
mother's  weddin' — when  the  divvle — called  the  chune !"  Even 
the  swimming  wicks  flared  up,  and  seemed  to  reach  out,  each 
a  hungry  tongue  of  flame  to  touch  and  taste  the  glittering  heap, 
before  they  went  into  the  dark.  Low  exclamations,  hands 
thrust  out  to  feel,  and  drawn  back  in  a  sort  of  superstitious  awe. 

167 


THE  MAGNETIC  NORTH 

Here  it  was,  this  wonderful  stuff  they'd  come  for !  Each  one 
knew  by  the  wild  excitement  in  his  own  breast,  how  in  secret 
he  had  been  brought  to  doubt  its  being  here.  But  here  it  was 
lying  in  a  heap  on  the  Big  Cabin  table !  and — now  it  was  gone. 

The  right  candle  had  given  out,  and  O'Flynn,  blowing  with 
impatience  like  a  walrus,  had  simultaneously  extinguished  the 
other. 

For  an  instant  a  group  of  men  with  strained  and  dazzled  eyes 
still  bent  above  the  blackness  on  the  boards. 

"Stir  the  fire,"  called  the  Colonel,  and  flew  to  do  it  himself. 

"I'll  light  a  piece  of  fat  pine,"  shouted  the  Boy,  catching  up  a 
stick,  and  thrusting  it  into  the  coals. 

"Where's  your  bitch?"  said  Dillon  calmly. 

"Bitch?"   " 

"Haven't  you  got  a  condensed  milk  can  with  some  bacon 
grease  in  it,  and  a  rag  wick?  Makes  a  good  enough  light." 

But  the  fire  had  been  poked  up,  and  the  cabin  was  full  of 
dancing  lights  and  shadows.  Besides  that,  the  Boy  was  hold 
ing  a  resinous  stick  alight  over  the  table,  and  they  all  bent  down 
as  before. 

"It  was  passin'  a  bank  in  'Frisco  wid  a  windy  full  o'  that 
stuff  that  brought 'me  up  here,"  said  O'Flynn. 

"It  was  hearin'  about  that  winder  brought  me"  added  Potts. 

Everyone  longed  to  touch  and  feel  about  in  the  glittering  pile, 
but  no  one  as  yet  had  dared  to  lay  a  finger  on  the  smallest  grain 
in  the  hoard.  An  electrical  shock  flashed  through  the  company 
when  the  General  picked  up  one  of  the  biggest  nuggets  and 
threw  it  down  with  a  rich,  full-bodied  thud.  "That  one  is  four 
ounces." 

He  took  up  another. 

"This  is  worth  about  sixty  dollars." 

"More  like  forty,"  said  Dillon. 

They  were  of  every  conceivable  shape  and  shapelessness,  most 
of  them  flattened;  some  of  them,  the  greenhorn  would  swear, 
were  fashioned  by  man  into  roughly  embossed  hearts,  or  shells, 
or  polished  discs  like  rude,  defaced  coins.  One  was  a  perfect 
staple,  another  the  letter  "L,"  another  like  an  axe-head,  and 
one  like  a  peasant's  sabot.  Some  were  almost  black  with  iron 
stains,  and  some  were  set  with  "jewels"  of  quartz,  but  for  the 
most  part  they  were  formless  fragments  of  a  rich  and  brassy 
yellow. 

"Lots  of  the  little  fellas  are  like  melon-seeds";  and  the  Boy 

1 68 


CHRISTMAS 

pointed  a  shaking  finger,  longing  and  still  not  daring  to  touch 
the  treasure. 

Each  man  had  a  dim  feeling  in  the  back  of  his  head  that, 
after  all,  the  hillock  of  gold  was  an  illusion,  and  his  own  hand 
upon  the  dazzling  pile  would  clutch  the  empty  air. 

" Where's  your  dust?"  asked  the  Boy. 

Dillon  stared. 

"Why,  here." 

"This  is  all  nuggets  and  grains." 

"Well,  what  more  do  you  want?" 

"Oh,  it'd  do  well  enough  for  me,  but  it  ain't,  dust." 

"It's  what  we  call  dust." 

"As  coarse  as  this?" 

The  Sour-dough  nodded,  and  Lighter  laughed. 

"There's  a  fox's  mask,"  said  the  Colonel  at  the  bottom  of  the 
table,  pointing  a  triangular  bit  out. 

"Let  me  look  at  it  a  minute,"  begged  the  Boy. 

"Hand  it  round,"  whispered  SchifL 

It  was  real.  It  was  gold.  Their  fingers  tingled  under  the 
first  contact.  This  was  the  beginning. 

The  rude  bit  of  metal  bred  a  glorious  confidence.  Under  the 
magic  of  its  touch  Robert  Bruce's  expensive  education  became 
a  simple  certainty.  In  Potts's  hand  the  nugget  gave  birth  to  a 
mighty  progeny.  He  saw  himself  pouring  out  sackfuls  before 
his  enraptured  girl. 

The  Boy  lifted  his  flaring  torch  with  a  victorious  sense  of 
having  just  bought  back  the  Orange  Grove;  and  Salmon  P. 
passed  the  nugget  to  his  partner  with  a  blissful  sigh. 

"Well,  I'm  glad  we  didn't  get  cold  feet,"  says  he. 

"Yes,"  whispered  Schiff ;  "it  looks  like  we  goin'  to  the  right 
place." 

The  sheen  of  the  heap  of  yellow  treasure  was  trying  even 
to  the  nerves  of  the  Colonel. 

"Put  it  away,"  he  said  quite  solemnly,  laying  the  nugget  on 
the  paper — "put  it  all  away  before  the  firelight  dies  down." 

Dillon  leisurely  gathered  it  up  and  dropped  the  nuggets,  with 
an  absent-minded  air,  into  the  pouch  which  Lighter  held. 

But  the  San  Francisco  Examiner  had  been  worn  to  the  soft 
ness  of  an  old  rag  and  the  thinness  of  tissue.  Under  Dillon's 
sinewy  fingers  pinching  up  the  gold  the  paper  gave  way. 

"Oh!"  exclaimed  more  than  one  voice,  as  at  some  grave 
mishap. 

169 


THE   MAGNETIC   NORTH 

Dillon  improvised  a  scoop  out  of  a  dirty  envelope.  Nobody 
spoke  and  everybody  watched,  and  when,  finally,  with  his  hand, 
he  brushed  the  remaining  grains  off  the  torn  paper  into  the 
envelope,  poured  them  into  the  gaping  sack-mouth,  and  lazily 
pulled  at  the  buckskin  draw-string,  everybody  sat  wondering 
how  much,  if  any,  of  the  precious  metal  had  escaped  through 
the  tear,  and  how  soon  Dillon  would  come  out  of  his  brown 
study,  remember,  and  recover  the  loss.  But  a  spell  seemed  to 
have  fallen  on  the  company.  No  one  spoke,  till  Dillon,  with 
that  lazy  motion,  hoisting  one  square  shoulder  and  half  turning 
his  body  round,  was  in  the  act  of  returning  the  sack  to  his  hip- 
pocket. 

"Wait!"  said  Mac,  with  the  explosiveness  of  a  firearm,  and 
O'Flynn  jumped. 

"You  ain't  got  it  all,"  whispered  Schiff  hurriedly. 

"Oh,  I'm  leavin'  the  fox-face  for  luck,"  Dillon  nodded  at  the 
Colonel. 

But  Schiff  pointed  reverently  at  the  tear  in  the  paper,  as  Dil 
lon  only  went  on  pushing  his  sack  deep  down  in  his  pocket,  while 
Mac  lifted  the  Examiner.  All  but  the  two  millionaires  bent 
forward  and  scrutinised  the  table.  O'Flynn  impulsively  ran 
one  lone  hand  over  the  place  where  the  gold-heap  had  lain, 
his  other  hand  held  ready  at  the  table's  edge  to  catch  any  sweep 
ings.  None !  But  the  result  of  O'Flynn's  action  was  that  those 
particles  of  gold  that  that  fallen  through  the  paper  were  driven 
into  the  cracks  and  inequalities  of  the  board. 

"There!     See?" 

"Now  look  what  you've  done!" 

Mac  pointed  out  a  rough  knot-hole,  too,  that  slyly  held  back 
a  pinch  of  gold. 

"Oh,  that/" 

Dillon  slapped  his  hip,  and  settled  into  his  place.  But  the 
men  nearest  the  crack  and  the  knot-hole  fell  to  digging  out 
the  renegade  grains,  and  piously  offering  them  to  their  lawful 
owner. 

"That  ain't  worth  botherin'  about,"  laughed  Dillon;  "you 
always  reckon  to  lose  a  little  each  time,  even  if  you  got  a  China 
soup-plate." 

"Plenty  more  where  that  came  from,"  said  the  General,  easily. 

Such  indifference  was  felt  to  be  magnificent  indeed.  The  lit 
tle  incident  said  more  for  the  richness  of  Minook  than  all  the 
General's  blowing;  they  forgot  that  what  was  lost  would 

170 


CHRISTMAS 

amount  to  less  than  fifty  cents.  The  fact  that  it  was  gold — 
Minook  gold — gave  it  a  symbolic  value  not  to  be  computed  in 
coin. 

"How  do  you  go?"  asked  the  Colonel,  as  the  two  millionaires 
began  putting  on  their  things. 

"We  cut  across  to  Kuskoquim.  Take  on  an  Indian  guide 
there  to  Nushagak,  and  from  there  with  dogs  across  the  ocean- 
ice  to  Kadiak." 

"Oh !  the  way  the  letters  go  out." 

"When  they  do"  smiled  Dillon.  "Yes,  it's  the  old  Russian 
Post  Trail,  I  believe.  South  of  Kadiak  Island  the  sea  is  said  to 
be  open  as  early  as  the  1st  of  March.  Well  get  a  steamer 
to  Sitka,  and  from  Sitka,  of  course,  the  boats  run  regular." 

"Seattle  by  the  middle  of  March!"  says  the  General.  "Come 
along,  Dillon;  the  sooner  you  get  to  Seattle,  and  blow  in  a 
couple  o'  hundred  thousand,  the  sooner  you'll  get  back  to 
Minook." 

Dillon  went  out  and  roused  up  the  dogs,  asleep  in  the  snow, 
with  their  bushy  tails  sheltering  their  sharp  noses. 

"See  you  later?" 

"Yes,'  'outside.'  " 

"Outside?    No,  sir!    Inside." 

Dillon  swore  a  blood-curdling  string  of  curses  and  cracked 
his  whip  over  the  leader. 

"Why,  you  comin'  back?" 

"Bet  your  life!" 

And  nobody  who  looked  at  the  face  of  the  Yukon  pioneer 
could  doubt  he  meant  what  he  said. 

They  went  indoors.  The  cabin  wore  an  unwonted  and  a 
rakish  air.  The  stools  seemed  to  have  tried  to  dance  the  lancers 
and  have  fallen  out  about  the  figure.  Two  were  overturned. 
The  unwashed  dishes  were  tossed  helter-skelter.  A  tipsy  Christ 
mas-tree  leaned  in  drunken  fashion  against  the  wall,  and  under 
its  boughs  lay  a  forgotten  child  asleep.  On  the  other  side  of 
the  cabin  an  empty  whisky  bottle  caught  a  ray  of  light  from 
the  fire,  and  glinted  feebly  back.  Among  the  ashes  on  the  hearth 
was  a  screw  of  paper,  charred  at  one  end,  and  thrown  there 
after  lighting  someone's  pipe.  The  Boy  opened  it.  The  famous 
programme  of  the  Yukon  Symposium ! 

"It's  been  a  different  sort  of  Christmas  from  what  we 
planned,"  observed  the  Colonel,  not  quite  as  gaily  as  you  might 
expect. 

171 


THE   MAGNETIC   NORTH 

"Begob !"  says  O'Flynn,  stretching  out  his  interminable  legs ; 
"ye  can't  say  we  haven't  hearrd  Glad  Tidings  of  gr-reat 

IV- 

"Colonel,"  interrupts  the  Boy,  throwing  the  Programme  in 
the  fire,  "let's  look  at  your  nugget  again." 

And  they  all  took  turns.  Except  Potts.  He  was  busy  dig 
ging  the  remaining  gold-grains  out  of  the  crack  and  the  knot 
hole. 


172 


CHAPTER   IX 

A  CHRISTIAN   AGNOSTIC 

" giver  mig  Rum! 

Himlen  har  Stjerner  Natten  er  stum." 

IT  was  a  good  many  days  before  they  got  the  dazzle  of  that 
gold  out  of  their  eyes.     They  found  their  tongues  again, 
and  talked  "Minook"  from  morning  till  night  among  them 
selves,  and  with  the  rare  passer  up  or  down  the  trail. 

Mac  began  to  think  they  might  get  dogs  at  Anvik,  or  at  one 
of  the  Ingalik  villages,  a  little  further  on.  The  balance  of 
opinion  in  the  camp  was  against  this  view.  But  he  had  Potts 
on  his  side.  When  the  New  Year  opened,  the  trail  was  in 
capital  condition.  On  the  2nd  of  January  two  lots  of  Indians 
passed,  one  with  dogs  hauling  flour  and  bacon  for  Benham, 
and  the  other  lot  without  dogs,  dragging  light  hand-sleds. 
Potts  said  restlessly: 

"After  all,  they  can  do  it." 

"So  can  we  if  we've  a  mind  to,"  said  Mac. 

"Come  on,  then." 

The  camp  tried  hard  to  dissuade  them.  Naturally  neither 
listened.  They  packed  the  Boy's  sled  and  set  off  on  the  morn 
ing  of  the  third,  to  Kaviak's  unbounded  surprise  and  disgust, 
his  view  of  life  being  that,  wherever  Mac  went,  he  was  bound 
to  follow.  And  he  did  follow — made  off  as  hard  as  his  swift 
little  feet  could  carry  him,  straight  up  the  Yukon  trail,  and 
Farva  lost  a  good  half  of  that  first  morning  bringing  him  home. 

Just  eight  days  later  the  two  men  walked  into  the  Cabin 
and  sat  down — Potts  with  a  heart-rending  groan,  Mac  with  his 
jaw  almost  dislocated  in  his  cast-iron  attempt  to  set  his  face 
against  defeat ;  their  lips  were  cracked  with  the  cold,  their  faces 
raw  from  frostbite,  their  eyes  inflamed.  The  weather — they 
called  it  the  weather — had  been  too  much  for  them.  It  was 
obvious  they  hadn't  brought  back  any  dogs,  but 

"What  did  you  think  of  Anvik?"  says  the  Boy. 

173 


THE   MAGNETIC   NORTH 

"Anvik?  You  don't  suppose  we  got  to  Anvik  in  weather 
like  this!" 

"How  far  did  you  get?" 

Mac  didn't  answer.  Potts  only  groaned.  He  had  frozen  his 
cheek  and  his  right  hand. 

They  were  doctored  and  put  to  bed. 

"Did  you  see  my  friends  at  Holy  Cross?"  the  Boy  asked 
Potts  when  he  brought  him  a  bowl  of  hot  bean-soup. 

"You  don't  suppose  we  got  as  far  as  Holy  Cross,  with  the 
wind " 

"Well,  where  did  you  get  to?    Where  you  been?" 

"Second  native  village  above." 

"Why,  that  isn't  more'n  sixteen  miles." 

"Sixteen  miles  too  far." 

Potts  breathed  long  and  deep  between  hot  and  comforting 
swallows. 

"Where's  the  Boy's  sled?"  said  the  Colonel,  coming  in  hur 
riedly. 

"We  cached  it,"  answered  Potts  feebly. 

"Couldn't  even  bring  his  sled  home!  Where  ve  you  cached 
it?" 

"It's  all  right — only  a  few  miles  back." 

Potts  relinquished  the  empty  soup-bowl,  and  closed  his  eyes. 
******* 

When  he  opened  them  again  late  in  the  evening  it  was  to  say : 

"Found  some  o'  those  suckers  who  were  goin'  so  slick  to 
Minook;  some  o'  them  down  at  the  second  village,  and  the 
rest  are  winterin'  in  Anvik,  so  the  Indians  say.  Not  a  single 
son  of  a  gun  will  see  the  diggins  till  the  ice  goes  out." 

"Then,  badly  off  as  we  are  here,"  says  the  Colonel  to  the 
Boy,  "it's  lucky  for  us  we  didn't  join  the  procession." 

When  Mac  and  the  Boy  brought  the  sled  home  a  couple  of 
days  later,  it  was  found  that  a  portion  of  its  cargo  consisted 
of  a  toy  kyak  and  two  bottles  of  hootchino,  the  maddening  drink 
concocted  by  the  natives  out  of  fermented  dough  and  sugar. 

Apart  from  the  question  of  drinking  raised  again  by  the 
"hootch,"  it  is  perhaps  possible  that,  having  so  little  else  to  do, 
they  were  ready  to  eat  the  more;  it  is  also  true  that,  busy  or 
idle,  the  human  body  requires  more  nourishment  in  the  North 
than  it  does  in  the  South. 

Certainly  the  men  of  the  little  Yukon  camp  began  to  find 
their  rations  horribly  short  commons,  and  to  suffer  a  continual 

174 


A  CHRISTIAN   AGNOSTIC 

hunger,  never  wholly  appeased.  It  is  conditions  like  these  that 
bring  out  the  brute  latent  in  all  men.  The  day  came  to  mean 
three  scant  meals.  Each  meal  came  to  mean  a  silent  struggle 
in  each  man's  soul  not  to  let  his  stomach  get  the  better  of  his 
head  and  heart.  At  first  they  joked  and  laughed  about  their 
hunger  and  the  scarcity.  By-and-by  it  became  too  serious,  the 
jest  was  wry-faced  and  rang  false.  They  had,  in  the  begin 
ning,  each  helped  himself  from  common  dishes  set  in  the  middle 
of  the  rough  plank  table.  Later,  each  found  how,  without 
meaning  to — hating  himself  for  it — he  watched  food  on  its  way 
to  others'  plates  with  an  evil  eye.  When  it  came  to  his  turn, 
he  had  an  ever-recurrent  struggle  with  himself  not  to  take  the 
lion's  share.  There  were  ironical  comments  now  and  then, 
and  ill-concealed  bitterness.  No  one  of  the  five  would  have 
believed  he  could  feel  so  towards  a  human  being  about  a  mor 
sel  of  food,  but  those  who  think  they  would  be  above  it,  have 
not  wintered  in  the  Arctic  regions  or  fought  in  the  Boer  War. 
The  difficulty  was  frankly  faced  at  last,  and  it  was  ordained  in 
council  that  the  Colonel  should  be  dispenser  of  the  food. 

"Can't  say  I  like  the  office,"  quoth  he,  "but  here  goes!"  and 
he  cut  the  bacon  with  an  anxious  hand,  and  spooned  out  the 
beans  solemnly  as  if  he  weighed  each  "go."  And  the  Trio 
presently  retired  to  the  Little  Cabin  to  discuss  whether  the 
Colonel  didn't  show  favouritism  to  the  Boy,  and,  when  Mac 
was  asleep,  how  they  could  get  rid  of  Kaviak. 

So  presently  another  council  was  called,  and  the  Colonel  re 
signed  his  office,  stipulating  that  each  man  in  turn  should  hold 
it  for  a  week,  and  learn  how  ungrateful  it  was.  Moreover, 
that  whoever  was,  for  the  nonce,  occupying  the  painful  post, 
should  be  loyally  upheld  by  all  the  others,  which  arrangement 
was  in  force  to  the  end. 

And  still,  on  grounds  political,  religious,  social,  trivial,  the 
disaffection  grew.  Two  of  the  Trio  sided  against  the  odd 
man,  Potts,  and  turned  him  out  of  the  Little  Cabin  one  night 
during  a  furious  snowstorm,  that  had  already  lasted  two  days, 
had  more  than  half  buried  the  hut,  and  nearly  snowed  up  the 
little  doorway.  The  Colonel  and  the  Boy  had  been  shovelling 
nearly  all  the  day  before  to  keep  free  the  entrance  to  the  Big 
Cabin  and  the  precious  "bottle"  window,  as  well  as  their  half 
of  the  path  between  the  two  dwellings.  O'Flynn  and  Potts 
had  played  poker  and  quarrelled  as  usual. 

The  morning  after  the  ejection  of  Potts,  and  his  unwilling 

175 


THE   MAGNETIC   NORTH 

reception  at  the  Big  Cabin,  Mac  and  O'Flynn  failed  to  appear 
for  breakfast. 

"Guess  they're  huffy,"  says  Potts,  stretching  out  his  feet, 
very  comfortable  in  their  straw-lined  mucklucks,  before  the  big 
blaze.  "Bring  on  the  coffee,  Kaviak." 

"No,"  says  the  Colonel,  "we  won't  begin  without  the  other 
fellows." 

"By  the  living  Jingo,  I  will  then !"  says  Potts,  and  helps  him 
self  under  the  Colonel's  angry  eyes. 

The  other  two  conferred  a  moment,  then  drew  on  their 
parkis  and  mittens,  and  with  great  difficulty,  in  spite  of  yester 
day's  work,  got  the  door  open.  It  was  pretty  dark,  but  there 
was  no  doubt  about  it,  the  Little  Cabin  had  disappeared. 

"Look!  isn't  that  a  curl  of  smoke?"  said  the  Boy. 

"Yes,  by  George!  they're  snowed  under!" 

"Serve  'em  right!" 

A  heavy  sigh  from  the  Colonel.  "Yes,  but  well  have  to  dig 
'em  out!" 

"Look  here,  Colonel" — the  Boy  spoke  with  touching  solem 
nity — "not  before  breakfast!" 

"Right  you  are!"  laughed  the  Colonel;  and  they  went  in. 

It  was  that  day,  after  the  others  had  been  released  and  fed, 
that  the  Boy  fell  out  with  Potts  concerning  who  had  lost  the 
hatchet — and  they  came  to  blows.  A  black  eye  and  a  bloody 
nose  might  not  seem  an  illuminating  contribution  to  the  ques 
tion,  but  no  more  was  said  about  the  hatchet  after  the  Colonel 
had  dragged  the  Boy  off  the  prostrate  form  of  his  adversary. 

But  the  Colonel  himself  lost  his  temper  two  days  later  when 
O'Flynn  broached  the  seal  set  months  before  on  the  nearly 
empty  demijohn.  For  those  famous  "temperance  punches"  the 
Colonel  had  drawn  on  his  own  small  stock.  He  saw  his  blun 
der  when  O'Flynn,  possessing  himself  of  the  demijohn,  roared 
out: 

"It's  my  whisky,  I  tell  you!  I  bought  it  and  paid  furr  it, 
and  but  for  me  it  would  be  at  the  bottom  o'  the  Yukon 
now." 

"Yes,  and  you'd  be  at  the  bottom  of  the  Yukon  yourself  if 
you  hadn't  been  dragged  out  by  the  scruff  o'  your  neck.  And 
you'd  be  in  a  pretty  fix  now,  if  we  left  you  alone  with  your 
whisky,  which  is  about  all  you've  got." 

"We  agreed,"  Potts  chipped  in,  "that  it  should  be  kept  for 
medicinal  purposes  only." 

176 


A   CHRISTIAN   AGNOSTIC 

Sullenly  O'Flynn  sipped  at  his  grog.     Potts  had  "hogged 
most  of  the  hootch." 


"Look  here,  Boy,"  said  Mac  at  supper,  "I  said  I  wouldn't 
eat  off  this  plate  again." 

"Oh,  dry  up!     One  tin  plate's  like  another  tin  plate." 

"Are  you  reflecting  on  the  washer-up,  Mr.  MacCann?" 
asked  Potts. 

"I'm  saying  what  I've  said  before — that  I've  scratched  my 
name  on  my  plate,  and  I  won't  eat  off  this  rusty,  battered 
kettle-lid." 

He  held  it  up  as  if  to  shy  it  at  the  Boy.  The  young  fellow 
turned  with  a  flash  in  his  eye  and  stood  taut.  Then  in  the 
pause  he  said  quite  low: 

"Let  her  fly,  MacCann." 

But  MacCann  thought  better  of  it.  He  threw  the  plate 
down  on  the  table  with  a  clatter.  The  Colonel  jumped  up 
and  bent  over  the  mush-pot  at  the  fire,  beside  the  Boy,  whisper 
ing  to  him. 

"Oh,  all  right." 

When  the  Boy  turned  back  to  the  table,  with  the  smoking 
kettle,  the  cloud  had  gone  from  his  face.  MacCann  had  got 
up  to  hang  a  blanket  over  the  door.  While  his  back  was 
turned  the  Boy  brought  a  tin  plate,  still  in  good  condition,,  set 
it  down  at  Mac's  place,  planted  a  nail  on  end  in  the  middle, 
and  with  three  blows  from  a  hammer  fastened  the  plate  firmly 
to  the  board. 

"Maybe  you  can't  hand  it  up  for  more  as  often  as  you  like, 
but  you'll  always  find  it  there,"  he  said  when  McCann  came 
back.  And  the  laugh  went  against  the  dainty  pioneer,  who  to 
the  end  of  the  chapter  ate  from  a  plate  nailed  fast  to  the  table. 

"I  begin  to  understand,"  says  the  Colonel  to  the  Boy,  under 
cover  of  the  others'  talk,  "why  it's  said  to  be  such  a  devil  of  a 
test  of  a  fellow's  decency  to  winter  in  this  infernal  country." 

"They  say  it's  always  a  man's  pardner  he  comes  to  hate 
most,"  returned  the  Boy,  laughing  good-humouredly  at  the 
Colonel. 

"Naturally.     Look  at  the  row  in  the  Little  Cabin." 

"That  hasn't  been  the  only  row,"  the  Boy  went  on  more 
thoughtfully.  "I  say,  Colonel" — he  lowered  his  voice — "do 
you  know  there'll  have  to  be  a  new  system  of  rations?  I've 

177 


THE   MAGNETIC   NORTH 

been  afraid — now  I'm  sure — the  grub  won't  last  till  the  ice 
goes  out." 

"I  know  it,"  said  the  Colonel  very  gravely. 

"Was  there  a  miscalculation?" 

"I  hope  it  was  that — or  else,"  speaking  still  lower,  "the  stores 
have  been  tampered  with,  and  not  by  Kaviak  either.  There'll 
be  a  hell  of  a  row."  He  looked  up,  and  saw  Potts  watching 
them  suspiciously.  It  had  come  to  this :  if  two  men  talked  low 
the  others  pricked  their  ears.  "But  lack  of  grub,"  resumed 
the  Colonel  in  his  usual  voice,  as  though  he  had  not  noticed, 
"is  only  one  of  our  difficulties.  Lack  of  work  is  just  about  as 
bad.  It  breeds  a  thousand  devils.  We're  a  pack  o'  fools. 
Here  we  are,  all  of  us,  hard  hit,  some  of  us  pretty  well  cleaned 
out  o'  ready  cash,  and  here's  dollars  and  dollars  all  round  us, 
and  we  sit  over  the  fire  like  a  lot  of  God-forsaken  natives." 

"Dollars!    Where?" 

"Growin5  on  the  trees,  boys;  a  forest  full." 

"Oh,  timber."     Enthusiasm  cooled. 

"Look  at  what  they  say  about  those  fellows  up  at  Anvik, 
what  they  made  last  year." 

"They've  got  a  saw-mill." 

"Now  they  have.  But  they  cut  and  sold  cord-wood  to  the 
steamers  two  years  before  they  got  a  mill,  and  next  summer 
will  be  the  biggest  season  yet.  We  ought  to  have  set  to,  as 
soon  as  the  cabins  were  built,  and  cut  wood  for  the  summer  traf 
fic.  But  since  there  are  five  of  us,  we  can  make  a  good  thing 
of  it  yet." 

The  Colonel  finally  carried  the  day.  They  went  at  it  next 
morning,  and,  as  the  projector  of  the  work  had  privately  pre 
dicted,  a  better  spirit  prevailed  in  the  camp  for  some  time.  But 
here  were  five  men,  only  one  of  whom  had  had  any  of  the 
steadying  grace  of  stiff  discipline  in  his  life,  men  of  haphazard 
education,  who  had  "chucked"  more  or  less  easy  berths  in  a 
land  of  many  creature  comforts  .  .  .  for  this — to  fell  and 
haul  birch  and  fir  trees  in  an  Arctic  climate  on  half-rations! 
It  began  to  be  apparent  that  the  same  spirit  was  invading  the 
forest  that  had  possession  of  the  camp;  two,  or  at  most  three, 
did  the  work,  and  the  rest  shirked,  got  snow-blindness  and 
rheumatism,  and  let  the  others  do  his  share,  counting  securely, 
nevertheless,  on  his  fifth  of  the  proceeds,  just  as  he  counted  (no 
matter  what  proportion  he  had  contributed)  on  his  full  share 
of  the  common  stock  of  food. 

178 


A   CHRISTIAN   AGNOSTIC 

"I  came  out  here  a  Communist "  said  the  Boy  one  day 

to  the  Colonel. 

"And  an  agnostic,"  smiled  the  older  man. 

"Oh,  I'm  an  agnostic  all  right,  now  and  for  ever.  But  this 
winter  has  cured  my  faith  in  Communism." 

Early  February  brought  not  only  lengthening  daylight,  but 
a  radical  change  in  the  weather.  The  woodsmen  worked  in 
their  shirt-sleeves,  perspired  freely,  and  said  in  the  innocence  of 
their  hearts,  "If  winter  comes  early  up  here,  spring  does  the 
same."  The  whole  hillside  was  one  slush,  and  the  snow  melting 
on  the  ill-made  Little  Cabin  roof  brought  a  shower-bath  into 
the  upper  bunk. 

Few  things  in  nature  so  surely  stir  the  pulse  of  man  as  the 
untimely  coming  of  a  few  spring  days,  that  have  lost  their  way 
in  the  calendar,  and  wandered  into  winter.  No  trouble  now 
to  get  the  Big  Chimney  men  away  from  the  fireside.  They 
held  up  their  bloodless  faces  in  the  faint  sunshine,  and  their 
eyes,  with  the  pupils  enlarged  by  the  long  reign  of  night,  blinked 
feebly,  like  an  owl's  forced  to  face  the  morning. 

There  were  none  of  those  signs  in  the  animal  world  outside, 
of  premature  stir  and  cheerful  awaking,  that  in  other  lands 
help  the  illusion  that  winter  lies  behind,  but  there  was  that 
even  more  stimulating  sweet  air  abroad,  that  subtle  mixture  of 
sun  and  yielding  frost,  that  softened  wind  that  comes  blowing 
across  the  snow,  still  keen  to  the  cheek,  but  subtly  reviving  to 
the  sensitive  nostril,  and  caressing  to  the  eyes.  The  Big  Chim 
ney  men  drew  deep  breaths,  and  said  in  their  hearts  the  battle 
was  over  and  won. 

Kaviak,  for  ever  following  at  Mac's  heels  "like  a  rale  Irish 
tarrier,"  found  his  allegiance  waver  in  these  stirring,  blissful 
days,  if  ever  Farva  so  belied  character  and  custom  as  to  swing 
an  axe  for  any  length  of  time.  Plainly  out  of  patience,  Kaviak 
would  throw  off  the  musk-rat  coat,  and  run  about  in  wet 
mucklucks  and  a  single  garment — uphill,  downhill,  on  impor 
tant  errands  which  he  confided  to  no  man. 

It  is  part  of  the  sorcery  of  such  days  that  men's  thoughts, 
like  birds',  turn  to  other  places,  impatient  of  the  haven  that 
gave  them  shelter  in  rough  weather  overpast.  The  Big  Chim 
ney  men  leaned  on  their  axes  and  looked  north,  south,  east,  west. 

Then  the  Colonel  would  give  a  little  start,  turn  about,  lift 
his  double-bitter,  and  swing  it  frontier  fashion,  first  over  one 
shoulder,  then  over  the  other,  striking  cleanly  home  each  time, 

179 


THE   MAGNETIC   NORTH 

working  with  a  kind  of  splendid  rhythm  more  harmonious, 
more  beautiful  to  look  at,  than  most  of  the  works  of  men.  This 
was,  perhaps,  the  view  of  his  comrades,  for  they  did  a  good  deal 
of  looking  at  the  Colonel.  He  said  he  was  a  modest  man  and 
didn't  like  it,  and  Mac,  turning  a  little  rusty  under  the  gibe, 
answered : 

"Haven't  you  got  the  sense  to  see  we've  cut  all  the  good 
timber  just  round  here?"  and  again  he  turned  his  eyes  to  the 
horizon  line. 

"Mac's  right,"  said  the  Boy;  and  even  the  Colonel  stood 
still  a  moment,  and  they  all  looked  away  to  that  land  at  the  end 
of  the  world  where  the  best  materials  are  for  the  building  of 
castles — it's  the  same  country  so  plainly  pointed  out  by  the 
Rainbow's  End,  and  never  so  much  as  in  the  springtime  does  it 
lure  men  with  its  ancient  promise. 

"Come  along,  Colonel ;  let's  go  and  look  for  real  timber " 

"And  let's  find  it  nearer  water-level — where  the  steamers 
can  see  it  right  away." 

| What  about  the  kid?" 

"Me  come,"  said  Kaviak,  with  a  highly  obliging  air. 

"No;  you  stay  at  home." 

"No;  go  too." 

"Go  too,  thou  babbler!  Kaviak's  a  better  trail  man  than 
some  I  could  mention." 

"We'll  have  to  carry  him  home,"  objected  Potts. 

"Now  don't  tell  us  you'll  do  any  of  the  carryin',  or  we'll 
lose  confidence  in  you,  Potts." 

The  trail  was  something  awful,  but  on  their  Canadian  snow- 
shoes  they  got  as  far  as  an  island,  six  miles  off.  One  end  of 
it  was  better  wooded  than  any  easily  accessible  place  they  had 
seen. 

"Why,  this  is  quite  like  real  spruce,"  said  the  Boy,  and 
O'Flynn  admitted  that  even  in  California  "these  here  would 
be  called  'trees'  wid  no  intintion  o'  bein'  sarcaustic." 

So  they  cut  holes  in  the  ice,  and  sounded  for  the  channel. 

"Yes,  sir,  the  steamers  can  make  a  landin'  here,  and  here's 
where  we'll  have  our  wood-rack." 

They  went  home  in  better  spirits  than  they  had  been  in  since 
that  welter  of  gold  had  lain  on  the  Big  Cabin  table. 

******* 

But  a  few  days  sufficed  to  wear  the  novelty  off  the  new  wood 
camp  for  most  of  the  party.  Potts  and  O'Flynn  set  out  in  the 

1 80 


A   CHRISTIAN   AGNOSTIC 

opposite  direction  one  morning  with  a  hand-sled,  and  provisions 
to  last  several  days.  They  were  sick  of  bacon  and  beans,  and 
were  "goin'  huntin'."  No  one  could  deny  that  a  moose  or  even 
a  grouse — anything  in  the  shape  of  fresh  meat — was  sufficiently 
needed.  But  Potts  and  O'Flynn  were  really  sick  and  sore  from 
their  recent  slight  attack  of  wood-felling.  They  were  after 
bigger  game,  too,  as  well  as  grouse,  and  a  few  days  "off."  It 
had  turned  just  enough  colder  to  glaze  the  trail  and  put  it  in 
fine  condition.  They  went  down  the  river  to  the  Oklahoma, 
were  generously  entertained  by  Captain  Rainey,  and  learned 
that,  with  earlier  contracts  on  his  hands,  he  did  not  want  more 
wood  from  them  than  they  had  already  corded.  They  returned 
to  the  camp  without  game,  but  with  plenty  of  whisky,  and  in 
formation  that  freed  them  from  the  yoke  of  labour,  and  from 
the  lash  of  ironic  comment.  In  vain  the  Colonel  urged  that 
the  Oklahoma  was  not  the  only  steamer  plying  the  Yukon, 
that  with  the  big  rush  of  the  coming  season  the  traffic  would 
be  enormous,  and  a  wood-pile  as  good  as  a  gold  mine.  The 
cause  was  lost. 

"You  won't  get  us  to  make  galley-slaves  of  ourselves  on  the 
off-chance  of  selling.  Rainey  says  that  wood  camps  have  sprung 
up  like  mushrooms  all  along  the  river.  The  price  of  wood  will 
go  down  to " 

"All  along  the  river!  There  isn't  one  between  us  and  An- 
dreievsky,  nor  between  here  and  Holy  Cross." 

But  it  was  no  use.  The  travellers  pledged  each  other  in 
Oklahoma  whisky,  and  making  a  common  cause  once  more,  the 
original  Trio  put  in  a  night  of  it.  The  Boy  and  the  Colonel 
turned  into  their  bunks  at  eleven  o'clock.  They  were  roused 
in  the  small  hours,  by  Kaviak's  frightened  crying,  and  the  noise 
of  angry  voices. 

"You  let  the  kid  alone." 

"Well,  it's  mesilf  that'll  take  the  liberty  o'  mintionin'  that 
I  ain't  goin'  to  stand  furr  another  minyit  an  Esquimer's  cuttin' 
down  my  rations.  Sure  it's  a  fool  I've  been!" 

"You  can't  help  that,"  Mac  chopped  out. 

"Say  Mac,"  said  Potts  in  a  drunken  voice,  "I'm  talkin'  to 
you  like  a  friend.  You  want  to  get  a  move  on  that  kid." 

"Kaviak's  goin'  won't  make  any  more  difference  than  a  fly's." 

The  other  two  grumbled  incoherently. 

"But  I  tell  you  what  would  make  a  difference:  if  you  two 
would  quit  eatin'  on  the  sly — out  o'  meal-times." 

181 


THE    MAGNETIC   NORTH 

"Be  the  Siven!" 

"You  lie!"  A  movement,  a  stool  overturned,  and  the  two 
men  in  the  bunks  were  struck  broad  awake  by  the  smart  con 
cussion  of  a  gun-shot.  Nobody  was  hurt,  and  between  them 
they  disarmed  Potts,  and  turned  the  Irishman  out  to  cool  off 
in  his  own  cabin.  It  was  all  over  in  a  minute.  Kaviak,  reas 
sured,  curled  down  to  sleep  again.  Mac  and  Potts  stretched 
themselves  on  the  buffalo-robe  half  under  the  table,  and  speed 
ily  fell  to  snoring.  The  Boy  put  on  some  logs.  He  and  the 
Colonel  sat  and  watched  the  sparks. 

"It's  a  bad  business." 

"It  can't  go  on,"  says  the  Colonel;  "but  Mac's  right:  Kav- 
iak's  being  here  isn't  to  blame.  They — we,  too — are  like  a  lot 
of  powder-cans." 

The  Boy  nodded.  "Any  day  a  spark,  and  biff!  some  of  us 
are  in  a  blaze,  and  wh-tt!  bang!  and  some  of  us  are  in  King 
dom  Come." 

"I  begin  to  be  afraid  to  open  my  lips,"  said  the  Colonel. 
"We  all  are;  don't  you  notice?" 

"Yes.     I  wonder  why  we  came." 

"Yoz/  had  no  excuse,"  said  the  elder  man  almost  angrily. 

"Same  excuse  as  you." 

The  Colonel  shook  his  head. 

"Exactly,"  maintained  the  Boy.  "Tired  of  towns  and  desk- 
work,  and — and "  The  Boy  shifted  about  on  his  wooden 

stool,  and  held  up  his  hands  to  the  reviving  blaze.  "Life 
owes  us  steady  fellows  one  year  of  freedom,  anyhow — one  year 
to  make  ducks  and  drakes  of.  Besides,  we've  all  come  to  make 
our  fortunes.  Doesn't  every  mother's  son  of  us  mean  to  find 
a  gold-mine  in  the  spring  when  we  get  to  the  Klondyke — eh?" 
And  he  laughed  again,  and  presently  he  yawned,  and  tumbled 
back  into  his  bunk.  But  he  put  his  head  out  in  a  moment. 
"Aren't  you  going  to  bed?" 

"Yes."     The  Colonel  stood  up. 

"Did  you  know  Father  Wills  went  by,  last  night,  when 
those  fellows  began  to  row  about  getting  out  the  whisky?" 

"He  says  there's  another  stampede  on." 
"Where  to?" 
"Koyukuk  this  time." 
"Why  didn't  he  come  in?" 

"Awful  hurry  to  get  to  somebody  that  sent  for  him.     Funny 

182 


A   CHRISTIAN   AGNOSTIC 

fellas  these  Jesuits.  They  believe  all  those  odd  things  they 
teach." 

"So  do  other  men,"  said  the  Colonel,  curtly. 

"Well,  I've  lived  in  a  Christian  country  all  my  life,  but  I 
don't  know  that  I  ever  saw  Christianity  practised  till  I  went 
up  the  Yukon  to  Holy  Cross." 

"I  must  say  you're  complimentary  to  the  few  other  Chris 
tians  scattered  about  the  world." 

"Don't  get  mifft,  Colonel.  I've  known  plenty  of  people 
straight  as  a  die,  and  capital  good  fellows.  I've  seen  them  do 
very  decent  things  now  and  then.  But  with  these  Jesuit  mis 
sionaries — Lord !  there's  no  let  up  to  it." 

No  answer  from  the  Protestant  Colonel.  Presently  the  Boy 
in  a  sleepy  voice  added  elegantly : 

"No  Siree!     The  Jesuits  go  the  whole  hog!" 


Winter  was  down  on  the  camp  again.  The  whole  world 
was  hard  as  iron.  The  men  kept  close  to  the  Big  Chimney  all 
day  long,  and  sat  there  far  into  the  small  hours  of  the  morn 
ing,  saying  little,  heavy-eyed  and  sullen.  The  dreaded  insomnia 
of  the  Arctic  had  laid  hold  on  all  but  the  Colonel.  Even  his 
usually  unbroken  repose  was  again  disturbed  one  night  about 
a  week  later.  Some  vague  sort  of  sound  or  movement  in  the 
room — Kaviak  on  a  raid? — or — wasn't  that  the  closing  of  a 
door? 

"Kaviak!"  He  put  his  hand  down  and  felt  the  straight  hair 
of  the  Esquimaux  in  the  under  bunk.  "Potts!  Who's  there?" 
He  half  sat  up.  "Boy!  Did  you  hear  that,  Boy?" 

He  leaned  far  down  over  the  side  and  saw  distinctly  by  the 
fire-light  there  was  nobody  but  Kaviak  in  the  under  bunk. 

The  Colonel  was  on  his  legs  in  a  flash,  putting  his  head 
through  his  parki  and  drawing  on  his  mucklucks.  He  didn't 
wait  to  cross  and  tie  the  thongs.  A  presentiment  of  evil  was 
strong  upon  him.  Outside  in  the  faint  star-light  he  thought  a 
dim  shape  was  passing  down  towards  the  river. 

"Who's^that?  Hi,  there!  Stop,  or  I'll  shoot!"  He  hadn't 
brought  his  gun,  but  the  ruse  worked. 

"Don't  shoot!"  came  back  the  voice  of  the  Boy. 

The  Colonel  stumbled  down  the  bank  in  the  snow,  and  soon 
stood  by  the  shape.  The  Boy  was  dressed  for  a  journey. 
His  Arctic  cap  was  drawn  down  over  his  ears  and  neck.  The 

183 


THE    MAGNETIC   NORTH 

wolf-skin  fringe  of  his  parki  hood  stood  out  fiercely  round  the 
defiant  young  face.  Wound  about  one  of  his  seal-skin  mittens 
was  the  rope  of  the  new  hand-sled  he'd  been  fashioning  so 
busily  of  nights  by  the  camp  fire.  His  two  blankets  were 
strapped  on  the  sled,  Indian  fashion,  along  with  a  gunny  sack 
and  his  rifle. 

The  two  men  stood  looking  angrily  at  each  other  a  moment, 
and  then  the  Colonel  politely  inquired: 

"What  in  hell  are  you  doing?" 

"Coin'  to  Minook." 

"The  devil  you  are!" 

"Yes,  the  devil  I  am!" 

They  stood  measuring  each  other  in  the  dim  light,  till  the 
Colonel's  eyes  fell  on  the  loaded  sled.  The  Boy's  followed. 

"I've  only  taken  short  rations  for  two  weeks.  I  left  a  state 
ment  in  the  cabin;  it's  about  a  fifth  of  what's  my  share,  so 
there's  no  need  of  a  row." 

"What  are  you  goin'  for?" 

"Why,  to  be  first  in  the  field,  and  stake  a  gold-mine,  of 
course." 

The  Colonel  laid  a  rough  hand  on  the  Boy's  shoulder.  He 
shook  it  off  impatiently,  and  before  the  older  man  could  speak : 

"Look  here,  let's  talk  sense.  Somebody's  got  to  go,  or 
there'll  be  trouble.  Potts  says  Kaviak.  But  what  difference 
would  Kaviak  make?  I've  been  afraid  you'd  get  ahead  of  me. 
I've  watched  you  for  a  week  like  a  hawk  watches  a  chicken. 
But  it's  clear  I'm  the  one  to  go." 

He  pulled  up  the  rope  of  the  sled,  and  his  little  cargo 
lurched  towards  him.  The  Colonel  stepped  in  front  of  him. 

"Boy "  he  began,  but  something  was  the  matter  with 

his  voice;  he  got  no  further. 

"I'm  the  youngest,"  boasted  the  other,  "and  I'm  the  strong 
est,  and — I'm  the  hungriest." 

The  Colonel  found  a  perturbed  and  husky  voice  in  which 
to  say: 

"I  didn't  know  you  were  such  a  Christian." 

"Nothin'  o'  the  sort." 

^'What's  this  but " 

"Why,  it's  just — just  my  little  scheme." 

"You're  no  fool.  You  know  as  well  as  I  do  you've  got  the 
devil's  own  job  in  hand." 

"Somebody's  got  to  go,"  he  repeated  doggedly. 

184 


A   CHRISTIAN   AGNOSTIC 

"Look  here,"  said  the  Colonel,  "y°u  haven't  impressed  me 
as  being  tired  of  life." 

"Tired  of  life!"  The  young  eyes  flashed  in  that  weird 
aureole  of  long  wolf-hair.  "Tired  of  life!  Well,  I  should  just 
pretty  nearly  think  I  wasn't." 

"H'm!  Then  if  it  isn't  Christianity,  it  must  be  because 
you're  young." 

"Golly,  man!  it's  because  I'm  hungry — HUNGRY!  Great 
Jehosaphat!  I  could  eat  an  ox!" 

"And  you  leave  your  grub  behind,  to  be  eaten  by  a  lot 
of " 

"I  can't  stand  here  argyfying  with  the  thermometer  down 
to "  The  Boy  began  to  drag  the  sled  over  the  snow. 

"Come  back  into  the  cabin," 

"No." 

"Come  with  me,  I  say;  I've  got  something  to  propose." 
Again  the  Colonel  stood  in  front,  barring  the  way.  "Look 
here,"  he  went  on  gently,  "are  you  a  friend  of  mine?" 

"Oh,  so-so,"  growled  the  Boy.  But  after  looking  about  him 
for  an  angry  second  or  two,  he  flung  down  the  rope  of  his  sled, 
walked  sulkily  uphill,  and  kicked  off  his  snow-shoes  at  the  door 
of  the  cabin,  all  with  the  air  of  one  who  waits,  but  is  not 
baulked  of  his  purpose.  They  went  in  and  stripped  off  their 
furs. 

"Now  see  here:  if  you've  made  up  your  mind  to  light  out, 
I'm  not  going  to  oppose  you." 

"Why  didn't  you  say  anything  as  sensible  as  that  out 
yonder?" 

"Because  I  won't  be  ready  to  go  along  till  to-morrow." 

"You?" 

"Yep." 

There  was  a  little  silence. 

"I  wish  you  wouldn't,  Colonel." 

"It's  dangerous  alone — not  for  two." 

"Yes,  it  is  dangerous,  and  you  know  it." 

"I'm  goin'  along,  laddie."  Seeing  the  Boy  look  precious 
grave  and  harassed:  "What's  the  matter?" 

"I'd  hate  awfully  for  anything  to  happen  to  you." 

The  Colonel  laughed.  "Much  obliged,  but  it  matters  un 
common  little  if  I  do  drop  in  my  tracks." 

"You  beblowed!" 

"You  see  I've  got  a  pretty  bad  kind  of  a  complaint,  anyhow." 

185 


THE    MAGNETIC   NORTH 

The  Boy  leaned  over  in  the  firelight  and  scanned  the  Colo 
nel's  face. 

"What's  wrong?" 

The  Colonel  smiled  a  queer  little  one-sided  smile.  "I've 
been  out  o'  kelter  nearly  ten  years." 

"Oh,  that's  all  right.  You'll  go  on  for  another  thirty  if  you 
stay  where  you  are  till  the  ice  goes  out." 

The  Colonel  bent  his  head,  and  stared  at  the  smooth-trodden 
floor  at  the  edge  of  the  buffalo-skin.  "To  tell  the  truth,  I'll 
be  glad  to  go,  not  only  because  of "  He  hitched  his  shoul 
ders  towards  the  corner  whence  came  the  hoarse  and  muffled 
breathing  of  the  Denver  clerk.  "I'll  be  glad  to  have  some 
thing  to  tire  me  out,  so  I'll  sleep — sleep  too  sound  to  dream. 
That's  what  I  came  for,  not  to  sit  idle  in  a  God-damn  cabin 

and  think — think "     He  got  up  suddenly  and  strode  the 

tiny  space  from  fire  to  door,  a  man  transformed,  with  hands 
clenching  and  dark  face  almost  evil.  "They  say  the  men  who 
winter  up  here  either  take  to  drink  or  go  mad.  I  begin  to  see 
it  is  so.  It's  no  place  to  do  any  forgetting  in."  He  stopped  sud 
denly  before  the  Boy  with  glittering  eyes.  "It's  the  country 
where  your  conscience  finds  you  out." 

"That  religion  of  yours  is  makin'  you  morbid,  Colonel."  The 
Boy  spoke  with  the  detached  and  soothing  air  of  a  sage. 

"You  don't  know  what  you're  talking  about."  He  turned 
sharply  away.  The  Boy  relapsed  into  silence.  The  Colonel  in 
his  renewed  prowling  brought  up  against  the  wooden  crane. 
He  stood  looking  down  into  the  fire.  Loud  and  regular 
sounded  the  sleeping  man's  breathing  in  the  quiet  little  room. 

"I  did  a  wrong  once  to  a  woman — ten  years  ago,"  said  the 
Colonel,  speaking  to  the  back-log — "although  I  loved  her." 
He  raised  a  hand  to  his  eyes  with  a  queer  choking  sound.  "I 
loved  her,"  he  repeated,  still  with  his  back  to  the  Boy.  "By- 
and-by  I  could  have  righted  it,  but  she — she  wasn't  the  kind 
to  hang  about  and  wait  on  a  man's  better  nature  when  once 
he'd  shown  himself  a  coward.  She  skipped  the  country."  He 
leaned  his  head  against  the  end  of  the  shelf  over  the  fire,  and 
said  no  more. 

"Go  back  in  the  spring,  find  out  where  she  is,  and " 

"I've  spent  every  spring  and  every  summer,  every  fall  and 
every  winter  till  this  one,  trying  to  do  just  that  thing." 

"You  can't  find  her?" 

"Nobody  can  find  her." 

1 86 


A   CHRISTIAN   AGNOSTIC 

"She's  dead " 

"She's  not  dead!" 

The  Boy  involuntarily  shrank  back;  the  Colonel  looked 
ready  to  smash  him.  The  action  recalled  the  older  man  to 
himself. 

"I  feel  sure  she  isn't  dead,"  he  said  more  quietly,  but  still 
trembling.  "No,  no;  she  isn't  dead.  She  had  some  money  of 
her  own,  and  she  went  abroad.  I  followed  her.  I  heard  of 
her  in  Paris,  in  Rome.  I  saw  her  once  in  a  droschky  in  Vienna ; 
there  I  lost  the  trail.  Her  people  said  she'd  gone  to  Japan. 
/  went  to  Japan.  I'm  sure  she  wasn't  in  the  islands.  I've 
spent  my  life  since  trying  to  find  her — writing  her  letters  that 

always  come  back — trying "  His  voice  went  out  like  a 

candle-wick  suddenly  dying  in  the  socket.  Only  the  sleeper 
was  audible  for  full  five  minutes.  Then,  as  though  he  had 
paused  only  a  comma's  space,  the  Colonel  went  on:  "I've  been 
trying  to  put  the  memory  of  her  behind  me,  as  a  sane  man 
should.  But  some  women  leave  an  arrow  sticking  in  your  flesh 
that  you  can  never  pull  out.  You  can  only  jar  against  it,  and 
cringe  under  the  agony  of  the  reminder  all  your  life  long.  .  .  . 
Bah!  Go  out,  Boy,  and  bring  in  your  sled." 

And  the  Boy  obeyed  without  a  word. 

Two  days  after,  three  men  with  a  child  stood  in  front  of  the 
larger  cabin,  saying  good-bye  to  their  two  comrades  who  were 
starting  out  on  snow-shoes  to  do  a  little  matter  of  625  miles 
of  Arctic  travelling,  with  two  weeks'  scant  provisioning,  some 
tea  and  things  for  trading,  bedding,  two  rifles,  and  a  kettle,  all 
packed  on  one  little  hand-sled. 

There  had  been  some  unexpected  feeling,  and  even  some  real 
generosity  shown  at  the  last,  On  the  part  of  the  three  who  were 
to  profit  by  the  exodus — falling  heir  thereby  to  a  bigger,  warmer 
cabin  and  more  food. 

O'Flynn  was  moved  to  make  several  touching  remonstrances. 
It  was  a  sign  of  unwonted  emotion  on  Mac's  part  that  he  gave 
up  arguing  (sacrificing  all  the  delight  of  a  set  debate),  and 
simply  begged  and  prayed  them  not  to  be  fools,  not  to  fly  in 
the  face  of  Providence. 

But  Potts  was  made  of  sterner  stuff.  Besides,  the  thing  was 
too  good  to  be  true.  O'Flynn,  when  he  found  they  were  not 
to  be  dissuaded,  solemnly  presented  each  with  a  little  bottle  of 
whisky.  Nobody  would  have  believed  O'Flynn  would  go  so 
far  as  that.  Nor  could  anyone  have  anticipated  that  close-fisted 

187 


THE    MAGNETIC   NORTH 

Mac  would  give  the  Boy  his  valuable  aneroid  barometer  and 
compass,  or  that  Potts  would  be  so  generous  with  his  best  Vir 
ginia  straight-cut,  filling  the  Colonel's  big  pouch  without  so 
much  as  a  word. 

"It's  a  crazy  scheme,"  says  he,  shaking  the  giant  Kentuckian 
by  the  hand,  "and  you  won't  get  thirty  miles  before  you  find 
it  out." 

"Call  it  an  expedition  to  Anvik,"  urged  Mac.  "Load  up 
there  with  reindeer  meat,  and  come  back.  If  we  don't  get 
some  fresh  meat  soon,  we'll  be  having  scurvy." 

"What  you're  furr  doin',"  says  O'Flynn  for  the  twentieth 
time,  "has  niver  been  done,  not  ayven  be  Indians.  The  prastes 
ahl  say  so." 

"So  do  the  Sour-doughs,"  said  Mac.  "It  isn't  as  if  you  had 
dogs." 

"Good-bye,"  said  the  Colonel,  and  the  men  grasped  hands. 

Potts  shook  hands  with  the  Boy  as  heartily  as  though  that 
same  hand  had  never  half  throttled  him  in  the  cause  of  a  miss 
ing  hatchet. 

"Good-bye,  Kiddie.     I  bequeath  you  my  share  o'  syrup." 

"Good-bye;  meet  you  in  the  Klondyke!" 

"Good-bye.     Hooray  for  the  Klondyke  in  June!" 

"Klondyke  in  June!     Hoop-la!" 

The  two  travellers  looked  back,  laughing  and  nodding,  as 
jolly  as  you  please.  The  Boy  stooped,  made  a  snow-ball,  and 
fired  it  at  Kaviak.  The  child  ducked,  chuckling,  and  returned 
as  good  as  he  got.  His  loosely  packed  ball  broke  in  a  splash  on 
the  back  of  the  Boy's  parki,  and  Kaviak  was  loudly  cheered. 

Still,  as  they  went  forward,  they  looked  back.  The  Big 
Chimney  wore  an  air  wondrous  friendly,  and  the  wide,  white 
world  looked  coldly  at  them,  with  small  pretence  of  welcome 
or  reward. 

"I  don't  believe  I  ever  really  knew  how  awful  jolly  the  Big 
Chimney  was — till  this  minute." 

The  Colonel  smiled.  "Hardly  like  myself,  to  think  what 
ever  else  I  see,  I'll  never  see  that  again." 

"Better  not  boast." 

The  Colonel  went  on  in  front,  breaking  trail  in  the  new- 
fallen  snow,  the  Boy  pulling  the  sled  behind  him  as  lightly  as 
if  its  double  burden  were  a  feather. 

"They  look  as  if  they  thought  it'd  be  a  picnic,"  says  Mac, 
grimly. 

1 88 


A   CHRISTIAN   AGNOSTIC 

"I  wonder  be  the  Siven  Howly  Pipers!  will  we  iver  see 
ayther  of  'em  again." 

"If  they  only  stay  a  couple  o'  nights  at  Anvik,"  said  Potts, 
with  gloomy  foreboding,  "they  could  get  back  here  inside  a 
week." 

"No,"  answered  Mac,  following  the  two  figures  with  serious 
eyes,  "they  may  be  dead  inside  a  week,  but  they  won't  be  back 
here." 

And  Potts  felt  his  anxiety  eased.  A  man  who  had  mined  at 
Caribou  ought  to  know. 


CHAPTER   X 

PRINCESS    MUCKLUCK 

"  We  all  went  to  Tibbals  to  see  the  Kinge,  who  used  my  mother  and  my 
aunt  very  gratiouslie;  but  we  all  saw  a  great  chaunge  betweene  the  fashion  of 
the  Court  as  it  was  now,  and  of  y  in  ye  Queene's,  for  we  were  all  lowzy  by 
sittinge  in  Sr  Thomas  Erskin's  chamber." 

Memoir:  Anne  Countess  of  Dorset,  1603. 

IT  was  the  26th  of  February,  that  first  day  that  they  "hit 
the  Long  Trail." 

Temperature  only  about  twenty  degrees,  the  Colonel 
thought,  and  so  little  wind  it  had  the  effect  of  being  warmer. 
Trail  in  fair  condition,  weather  gray  and  steady.  Never  men 
in  better  spirits.  To  have  left  the  wrangling  and  the  smoulder 
ing  danger  of  the  camp  behind,  that  alone,  as  the  Boy  said,  was 
"worth  the  price  of  admission."  Exhilarating,  too,  to  men  of 
their  temperament,  to  have  cut  the  Gordian  knot  of  the  diffi 
culty  by  risking  themselves  on  this  unprecedented  quest  for 
peace  and  food.  Gold,  too  ?  Oh,  yes — with  a  smile  to  see  how 
far  that  main  object  had  drifted  into  the  background — they 
added,  "and  for  gold." 

They  believed  they  had  hearkened  well  to  the  counsel  that 
bade  them  "travel  light."  "Remember,  every  added  ounce  is 
against  you."  "Nobody  in  the  North  owns  anything  that's 
heavy,"  had  been  said  in  one  fashion  or  another  so  often  that  it 
lost  its  ironic  sound  in  the  ears  of  men  who  had  come  so  far 
to  carry  away  one  of  the  heaviest  things  under  the  sun. 

The  Colonel  and  the  Boy  took  no  tent,  no  stove,  not  even  a 
miner's  pick  and  pan.  These  last,  General  Lighter  had  said, 
could  be  obtained  at  Minook;  and  "there  isn't  a  cabin  on  the 
trail,"  Dillon  had  added,  "without  'em." 

For  the  rest,  the  carefully-selected  pack  on  the  sled  contained 
the  marmot-skin,  woollen  blankets,  a  change  of  flannels  apiece, 
a  couple  of  sweaters,  a  Norfolk  jacket,  and  several  changes  of 

190 


PRINCESS    MUCKLUCK 

foot-gear.  This  last  item  was  dwelt  on  earnestly  by  all.  "Keep 
your  feet  dry,"  John  Dillon  had  said,  "and  leave  the  rest  to 
God  Almighty."  They  were  taking  barely  two  weeks'  rations, 
and  a  certain  amount  of  stuff  to  trade  with  the  up-river  Indians, 
when  their  supplies  should  be  gone.  They  carried  a  kettle,  an 
axe,  some  quinine,  a  box  of  the  carbolic  ointment  all  miners 
use  for  foot-soreness,  O'Flynn's  whisky,  and  two  rifles  and  am 
munition.  In  spite  of  having  eliminated  many  things  that  most 
travellers  would  count  essential,  they  found  their  load  came 
to  a  little  over  two  hundred  pounds.  But  every  day  would 
lessen  it,  they  told  each  other  with  a  laugh,  and  with  an  inward 
misgiving,  lest  the  lightening  should  come  all  too  quickly. 

They  had  seen  in  camp  that  winter  so  much  of  the  frailty  of 
human  temper  that,  although  full  of  faith  by  now  in  each 
other's  native  sense  and  fairness,  they  left  nothing  to  a  hap 
hazard  division  of  labour.  They  parcelled  out  the  work  of  the 
day  with  absolute  impartiality.  To  each  man  so  many  hours  of 
going  ahead  to  break  trail,  if  the  snow  was  soft,  while  the 
other  dragged  the  sled ;  or  else  while  one  pulled  in  front,  the 
other  pushed  from  behind,  in  regular  shifts  by  the  watch,  turn 
and  turn  about.  The  Colonel  had  cooked  all  winter,  so  it  was 
the  Boy's  turn  at  that — the  Colonel's  to  decide  the  best  place 
to  camp,  because  it  was  his  affair  to  find  seasoned  wood  for  fuel, 
his  to  build  the  fire  in  the  snow  on  green  logs  laid  close  together 
— his  to  chop  enough  wood  to  cook  breakfast  the  next  morning. 
All  this  they  had  arranged  before  they  left  the  Big  Chimney. 

That  they  did  not  cover  more  ground  that  first  day  was  a 
pure  chance,  not  likely  to  recur,  due  to  an  unavoidable  loss  of 
time  at  Pymeut. 

Knowing  the  fascination  that  place  exercised  over  his  com 
panion,  the  Colonel  called  a  halt  about  seven  miles  off  from  the 
Big  Chimney,  that  they  might  quickly  despatch  a  little  cold 
luncheon  they  carried  in  their  pockets,  and  push  on  without  a 
break  till  supper. 

"We've  got  no  time  to  waste  at  Pymeut,"  observes  the  Colonel 
significantly. 

"I  ain't  achin'  to  stop  at  Pymeut,"  says  his  pardner  with  a 
superior  air,  standing  up,  as  he  swallowed  his  last  mouthful  of 
cold  bacon  and  corn-bread,  and  cheerfully  surveyed  the  waste. 
"Who  says  it's  cold,  even  if  the  wind  is  up?  And  the  track's 
bully.  But  see  here,  Colonel,  you  mustn't  go  thinkin'  it's  smooth 
glare-ice,  like  this,  all  the  way." 

191 


THE   MAGNETIC   NORTH 

"Oh,  I  was  figurin'  that  it  would  be."  But  the  Boy  paid  no 
heed  to  the  irony. 

"And  it's  a  custom  o'  the  country  to  get  the  wind  in  your  face, 
as  a  rule,  whichever  way  you  go." 

' 'Well,  I'm  not  complainin'  as  yet." 

"Reckon  you  needn't  if  you're  blown  like  dandelion-down  all 
the  way  to  Minook.  Gee !  the  wind's  stronger !  Say,  Colonel, 
let's  rig  a  sail." 

"Foolishness." 

"No,  sir.  We'll  go  by  Pymeut  in  an  ice-boat,  lickety  split. 
And  it'll  be  a  good  excuse  for  not  stopping,  though  I  think  we 
ought  to  say  good-bye  to  Nicholas." 

This  view  inclined  the  Colonel  to  think  better  of  an  ice-boat. 
He  had  once  crossed  the  Bay  of  Toronto  in  that  fashion,  and 
began  to  wonder  if  such  a  mode  of  progression  applied  to  sleds 
might  not  aid  largely  in  solving  the  Minook  problem. 

While  he  was  wondering  the  Boy  unlashed  the  sled-load,  and 
pulled  off  the  canvas  cover  as  the  Colonel  came  back  with  his 
mast.  Between  them,  with  no  better  tools  than  axe,  jack-knives, 
and  a  rope,  and  with  fingers  freezing  in  the  south  wind,  they 
rigged  the  sail. 

The  fact  that  they  had  this  increasingly  favourable  wind  on 
their  very  first  day  showed  that  they  were  specially  smiled  on  by 
the  great  natural  forces.  The  superstitious  feeling  that  only 
slumbers  in  most  breasts,  that  Mother  Nature  is  still  a  mys 
terious  being,  who  has  her  favourites  whom  she  guards,  her  born 
enemies  whom  she  baulks,  pursues,  and  finally  overwhelms,  the 
age-old  childishness  stirred  pleasantly  in  both  men,  and  in  the 
younger  came  forth  unabashed  in  speech: 

"I  tell ^ you  the  omens  are  good!  This  expedition's  goin'  tp 
get  there."  Then,  with  the  involuntary  misgiving  that  follows 
hard  upon  such  boasting,  he  laughed  uneasily  and  added,  "I 
mean  to  sacrifice  the  first  deer's  tongue  I  don't  want  myself,  to. 
Yukon  Inua;  but  here's  to  the  south  wind!"  He  turned  some 
corn-bread  crumbs  out  of  his  pocket,  and  saw,  delighted,  how 
the  gale,  grown  keener,  snatched  eagerly  at  them  and  hurried 
them  up  the  trail.  The  ice-boat  careened  and  strained  eagerly 
to  sail  away.  The  two  gold-seekers,  laughing  like  schoolboys, 
sat  astride  the  pack ;  the  Colonel  shook  out  the  canvas,  and  they 
scudded  off  up  the  river  like  mad.  The  great  difficulty  was  the 
steering ;  but  it  was  rip-roaring  fun,  the  Boy  said,  and  very  soon 
there  were  natives  running  down  to  the  river,  to  stare  open- 

192 


PRINCESS   MUCKLUCK 

mouthed  at  the  astounding  apparition,  to  point  and  shout  some 
thing  unintelligible  that  sounded  like  "Muchtaravik !" 

"Why,  it's  the  Pymeuts!  Pardner,  we'll  be  in  Minook  by 
supper-ti " 

The  words  hadn't  left  his  lips  when  he  saw,  a  few  yards  in 
front  of  them,  a  faint  cloud  of  steam  rising  up  from  the  ice — 
that  dim  danger-signal  that  flies  above  an  air-hole.  The  Colonel, 
never  noticing,  was  heading  straight  for  the  ghastly  trap. 

"God,  Colonel!     Blow-hole!"  gasped  the  Boy. 

The  Colonel  simply  rolled  off  the  pack,  turning  over  and 
over  on  the  ice,  but  keeping  hold  of  the  rope. 

The  sled  swerved,  turned  on  her  side,  and  slid  along  with  a 
sound  of  snapping  and  tearing. 

While  they  were  still  headed  straight  for  the  hole,  the  Boy 
had  gathered  himself  for  a  clear  jump  to  the  right,  Hut  the  sled's 
sudden  swerve  to  the  left  broke  his  angle  sharply.  He  was  flung 
forward  on  the  new  impetus,  spun  over  the  smooth  surface, 
swept  across  the  verge  and  under  the  cloud,  clutching  wildly 
at  the  ragged  edge  of  ice  as  he  went  down. 

All  Pymeut  had  come  rushing  pell-mell. 

The  Colonel  was  gathering  himself  up  and  looking  round 
in  a  dazed  kind  of  way  as  Nicholas  flashed  by.  Just  beyond, 
in  that  yawning  hole,  fully  ten  feet  wide  by  fifteen  long,  the 
Boy's  head  appeared  an  instant,  and  then  was  lost  like  some 
thing  seen  in  a  dream.  Some  of  the  Pymeuts  with  quick  knives 
were  cutting  the  canvas  loose.  One  end  was  passed  to  Nicholas ; 
he  knotted  it  to  his  belt,  and  went  swiftly,  but  gingerly,  forward 
nearer  the  perilous  edge.  He  had  flung  himself  down  on  his 
stomach  just  as  the  Boy  rose  again.  Nicholas  lurched  his  body 
over  the  brink,  his  arms  outstretched,  straining  farther,  farther 
yet,  till  it  seemed  as  if  only  the  counterweight  of  the  rest  of  the 
population  at  the  other  end  of  the  canvas  prevented  his  joining 
the  Boy  in  the  hole.  But  Nicholas  had  got  a  grip  of  him,  and 
while  two  of  the  Pymeuts  hung  on  to  the  half-stunned  Colonel 
to  prevent  his  adding  to  the  complication,  Nicholas,  with  a 
good  deal  of  trouble  in  spite  of  Yagorsha's  help,  hauled  the 
Boy  out  of  the  hole  and  dragged  him  up  on  the  ice-edge.  The 
others  applied  themselves  lustily  to  their  end  of  the  canvas, 
and  soon  they  were  all  at  a  safe  distance  from  the  yawning 
danger. 

The  Boy's  predominant  feeling  had  been  one  of  intense  sur 
prise.  He  looked  round,  and  a  hideous  misgiving  seized  him. 

193 


THE   MAGNETIC   NORTH 

"Anything  the  matter  with  you,  Colonel?"  His  tone  was  so 
angry  that,  as  they  stared  at  each  other,  they  both  fell  to 
laughing. 

"Well,  I  rather  thought  that  was  what  /  was  going  to  say"  ; 
and  Kentucky  heaved  a  deep  sigh  of  relief. 

The  Boy's  teeth  began  to  chatter,  and  his  clothes  were  soon 
freezing  on  him.  They  got  him  up  off  the  ice,  and  Nicholas 
and  the  sturdy  old  Pymeut  story-teller,  Yagorsha,  walked  him, 
or  ran  him  rather,  the  rest  of  the  way  to  Pymeut,  for  they  were 
not  so  near  the  village  as  the  travellers  had  supposed  on  seeing 
nearly  the  whole  male  population.  The  Colonel  was  not  far 
behind,  and  several  of  the  bucks  were  bringing  the  disabled  sled. 
Before  reaching  the  Kachime,  they  were  joined  by  the  women 
and  children,  Muckluck  much  concerned  at  the  sight  of  her 
friend  glazed  in  ice  from  head  to  heel.  Nicholas  and  Yagorsha 
half  dragged,  half  pulled  him  into  the  Kachime.  The  entire 
escort  followed,  even  two  or  three  very  dirty  little  boys — every 
body,  except  the  handful  of  women  and  girls  left  at  the  mouth  of 
the  underground  entrance  and  the  two  men  who  had  run  on 
to  make  a  fire.  It  was  already  smoking  viciously  as  though  the 
seal-lamps  weren't  doing  enough  in  that  line,  when  Yagorsha 
and  Nicholas  laid  the  half-frozen  traveller  on  the  sleeping- 
bench. 

The  Pymeuts  knew  that  the  great  thing  was  to  get  the  ice- 
stiffened  clothes  off  as  quickly  as  might  be,  and  that  is  to  be 
done  expeditiously  only  by  cutting  them  off.  In  vain  the  Boy 
protested.  Recklessly  they  sawed  and  cut  and  stripped  him, 
rubbed  him  and  wrapped  him  in  a  rabbit-blanket,  the  fur  turned 
inside,  and  a  wolverine  skin  over  that.  The  Colonel  at  intervals 
poured  small  doses  of  O'Flynn's  whisky  down  the  Boy's  throat 
in  spite  of  his  unbecoming  behaviour,  for  he  was  both  belligerent 
and  ungrateful,  complaining  loudly  of  the  ruin  of  his  clothes 
with  only  such  intermission  as  the  teeth-chattering,  swallowing, 
and  rude  handling  necessitated. 

"I  didn't  like — bein'  in — that  blow-hole.  (Do  you  know — 
it  was  so  cold — it  burnt!)  But  I'd  rather — be — in  a  blow 
hole — than — br-r-r!  Blow-hole  isn't  so  s-s-melly  as  these 
s-s-kins !' 

"You  better  be  glad  you've  got  a  whole  skin  of  your  own  and 
ain't  smellin'  brimstone,"  said  the  Colonel,  pouring  a  little 
more  whisky  down  the  unthankful  throat.  "Pretty  sort  o' 
Klondyker  you  are — go  and  get  nearly  drowned  first  day  out!" 

194 


PRINCESS   MUCKLUCK 

Several  Pymeut  women  came  in  presently  and  joined  the 
men  at  the  fire,  chattering  low  and  staring  at  the  Colonel  and 
the  Boy. 

"I  can't  go — to  the  Klondyke — naked — no,  nor  wrapped  in 
a  rabbit-skin — like  Baby  Bunting " 

Nicholas  was  conferring  with  the  Colonel  and  offering  to 
take  him  to  Ol'  Chief's. 

"Oh,  yes;  Ol'  Chief  got  two  clo'es.  You  come.  Me  show" ; 
and  they  crawled  out  one  after  the  other. 

"You  pretty  near  dead  that  time,"  said  one  of  the  younger 
women  conversationally. 

"That's  right.     Who  are  you,  anyway?" 

"Me  Anna — Yagorsha's  daughter." 

"Oh,  yes,  I  thought  I'd  seen  you  before."  She  seemed  to  be 
only  a  little  older  than  Muckluck,  but  less  attractive,  chiefly  on 
account  of  her  fat  and  her  look  of  ill- temper.  She  was  on 
specially  bad  terms  with  a  buck  they  called  Joe,  and  they  seemed 
to  pass  all  their  time  abusing  one  another. 

The  Boy  craned  his  neck  and  looked  round.  Except  just 
where  he  was  lying,  the  Pymeut  men  and  women  were  crowded 
together,  on  that  side  of  the  Kachime,  at  his  head  and  at  his 
feet,  thick  as  herrings  on  a  thwart.  They  all  leaned  forward 
and  regarded  him  with  a  beady-eyed  sympathy.  He  had  never 
been  so  impressed  by  the  fact  before,  but  all  these  native  people, 
even  in  their  gentlest  moods,  frowned  in  a  chronic  perplexity 
and  wore  their  wide  mouths  open.  He  reflected  that  he  had 
never  seen  one  that  didn't,  except  Muckluck. 

Here  she  was,  crawling  in  with  a  tin  can. 

"Got  something  there  to  eat?" 

The  rescued  one  craned  his  head  as  far  as  he  could. 

"Too  soon,"  she  said,  showing  her  brilliant  teeth  in  the  fire 
light.  She  set  the  tin  down,  looked  round,  a  little  embarrassed, 
and  stirred  the  fire,  which  didn't  need  it. 

"Well" — he  put  his  chin  down  under  the  rabbit-skin  once 
more — "how  goes  the  world,  Princess?" 

She  flashed  her  quick  smile  again  and  nodded  reassuringly. 
"You  stay  here  now?" 

"No;  goin'  up  river." 

"What  for?"     She  spoke  disapprovingly. 

"Want  to  get  an  Orange  Grove." 

"Find  him  up  river?" 

"Hope  so." 

195 


THE   MAGNETIC   NORTH 

"I  think  I  go,  too";  and  all  the  grave  folk,  sitting  so  close 
on  the  sleeping-bench,  stretched  their  wide  mouths  wider  still, 
smiling  good-humouredly. 

"You  better  wait  till  summer.'' 

"Oh !"  She  lifted  her  head  from  the  fire  as  one  who  takes 
careful  note  of  instructions.  "Nex'  summer?" 

"Well,  summer's  the  time  for  squaws  to  travel." 

"I  come  nex'  summer,"  she  said. 

By-and-by  Nicholas  returned  with  a  new  parki  and  a  pair  of 
wonderful  buckskin  breeches — not  like  anything  worn  by  the 
Lower  River  natives,  or  by  the  coast-men  either :  well  cut,  well 
made,  and  handsomely  fringed  down  the  outside  of  the  leg 
where  an  officer's  gold  stripe  goes. 

"Chaparejos!"  screamed  the  Boy.     "Where'd  you  get  'em?" 

"Ol'  Chief— he  ketch  urn." 

"They're  bully!"  said  the  Boy,  holding  the  despised  rabbit- 
skin  under  his  chin  with  both  hands,  and  craning  excitedly  over 
it.  He  felt  that  his  fortunes  were  looking  up.  Talk  about  a 
tide  in  the  affairs  of  men!  Why,  a  tide  that  washes  up  to  a 
wayfarer's  feet  a  pair  o'  chaparejos  like  that — well!  legs  so 
habited  would  simply  have  to  carry  a  fella  on  to  fortune.  He 
lay  back  on  the  sleeping-bench  with  dancing  eyes,  while  the 
raw  whisky  hummed  in  his  head.  In  the  dim  light  of  seal- 
lamps  vague  visions  visited  him  of  stern  and  noble  chiefs  out  of 
the  Leather  Stocking  Stories  of  his  childhood — men  of  daring, 
whose  legs  were  invariably  cased  in  buck-skin  with  dangling 
fringes.  But  the  dashing  race  was  not  all  Indian,  nor  all  dead. 
Famous  cowboys  reared  before  him  on  bucking  bronchos,  their 
leg-fringes  streaming  on  the  blast,  and  desperate  chaps  who  held 
up  coaches  and  potted  Wells  Fargo  guards.  Anybody  must 
needs  be  a  devil  of  a  fellow  who  went  about  in  "snaps,"  as  his 
California  cousins  called  chaparejos.  Even  a  peaceable  fella 
like  himself,  not  out  after  gore  at  all,  but  after  an  Orange 

Grove — even  he,  once  he  put  on He  laughed  out  loud 

at  his  childishness,  and  then  grew  grave.    "Say,  Nicholas,  what's 
the  tax?" 

"Hey?" 

]|How  much?" 

"Oh,  your  pardner — he  pay." 

"Humph!     I  s'pose  I'll  know  the  worst  on  settlin'-day." 

Then,  after  a  few  moments,  making  a  final  clutch  at  economy 
before  the  warmth  and  the  whisky  subdued  him  altogether : 

196 


PRINCESS   MUCKLUCK 

"Say,  Nicholas,  have  you  got — hasn't  the  Ol'  Chief  got  any 
— less  glorious  breeches  than  those  ?" 
'"Hey?" 

"Anything  little  cheaper?" 

"Nuh,"  says  Nicholas. 

The  Boy  closed  his  eyes,  relieved  on  the  whole.  Fate  had  a 
mind  to  see  him1  in  chaparejos.  Let  her  look  to  the  sequel, 
then! 

When  consciousness  came  back  it  brought  the  sound  of 
Yagorsha's  yarning  by  the  fire,  and  the  occasional  laugh  or 
grunt  punctuating  the  eternal  "Story." 

The  Colonel  was  sitting  there  among  them,  solacing  himself 
by  adding  to  the  smoke  that  thickened  the  stifling  air. 

Presently  the  Story-teller  made  some  shrewd  hit,  that  shook 
the  Pymeut  community  into  louder  grunts  of  applause  and  a 
general  chuckling.  The  Colonel  turned  his  head  slowly,  and 
blew  out  a  fresh  cloud:  "Good  joke?" 

In  the  pause  that  fell  thereafter,  Yagorsha,  imperturbable, 
the  only  one  who  had  not  laughed,  smoothed  his  lank,  iron- 
gray  locks  down  on  either  side  of  his  wide  face,  and  went  on 
renewing  the  sinew  open-work  in  his  snow-shoe. 

"When  Ol'  Chief's  father  die " 

All  the  Pymeuts  chuckled  afresh.  The  Boy  listened  eagerly. 
Usually  Yagorsha's  stories  were  tragic,  or,  at  least,  of  serious 
interest,  ranging  from  bereaved  parents  who  turned  into  wol 
verines,  all  the  way  to  the  machinations  of  the  Horrid  Dwarf 
and  the  Cannibal  Old  Woman. 

The  Colonel  looked  at  Nicholas.  He  seemed  as  entertained 
as  the  rest,  but  quite  willing  to  leave  his  family  history  in  pro 
fessional  hands. 

"Ol'  Chief's  father,  Glovotsky,  him  Russian,"  Yagorsha  be 
gan  again,  laying  down  his  sinew-thread  a  moment  and  accept 
ing  some  of  the  Colonel's  tobacco. 

"I  didn't  know  you  had  any  white  blood  in  you,"  interrupted 
the  Colonel,  offering  his  pouch  to  Nicholas.  "I  might  have 
suspected  Muckluck " 

"Heap  got  Russian  blood,"  interrupted  Joe. 

As  the  Story-teller  seemed  to  be  about  to  repeat  the  enliven 
ing  tradition  concerning  the  almost  mythical  youth  of  Ol' 
Chief's  father,  that  subject  of  the  great  Katharine's,  whose 
blood  was  flowing  still  in  Pymeut  veins,  just  then  in  came 
Yagorsha's  daughter  with  some  message  to  her  father.  He 

197 


THE   MAGNETIC   NORTH 

grunted  acquiescence,  and  she  turned  to  go.  Joe  called  some 
thing  after  her,  and  she  snapped  back.  He  jumped  up  to  bar 
her  exit.  She  gave  him  a  smart  cuff  across  the  eyes,  which  sur 
prised  him  almost  into  the  fire,  and  while  he  was  recovering  his 
equilibrium  she  fled.  Yagorsha  and  all  the  Pymeuts  laughed 
delightedly  at  Joe's  discomfiture. 

The  Boy  had  been  obliged  to  sit  up  to  watch  this  spirited 
encounter.  The  only  notice  the  Colonel  took  of  him  was  to 
set  the  kettle  on  the  fire.  While  he  was  dining  his  pardner 
gathered  up  the  blankets  and  crawled  out. 

"Comin'  in  half  a  minute,"  the  Boy  called  after  him.  The 
answer  was  swallowed  by  the  tunnel. 

"Him  go  say  goo'-bye  Ol'  Chief,"  said  Nicholas,  observing 
how  the  Colonel's  pardner  was  scalding  himself  in  his  haste  to 
despatch  a  second  cup  of  tea. 

But  the  Boy  bolted  the  last  of  his  meal,  gathered  up  the  ket 
tle,  mug,  and  frying-pan,  which  had  served  him  for  plate  as 
well,  and  wormed  his  way  out  as  fast  as  he  could.  There  was 
the  sled  nearly  packed  for  the  journey,  and  watching  over  it, 
keeping  the  dogs  at  bay,  was  an  indescribably  dirty  little  boy 
in  a  torn  and  greasy  denim  parki  over  rags  of  reindeer-skin. 
Nobody  else  in  sight  but  Yagorsha's  daughter  down  at  the 
water-hole. 

"Where's  my  pardner  gone?"  The  child  only  stared,  having 
no  English  apparently. 

While  the  Boy  packed  the  rest  of  the  things,  and  made  the 
tattered  canvas  fast  under  the  lashing,  Joe  came  out  of  the 
Kachime.  He  stood  studying  the  prospect  a  moment,  and  his 
dull  eyes  suddenly  gleamed.  Anna  was  coming  up  from  the 
river  with  her  dripping  pail.  He  set  off  with  an  affectation  of 
leisurely  indifference,  but  he  made  straight  for  his  enemy.  She 
seemed  not  to  see  him  till  he  was  quite  near,  then  she  sheered 
off  sharply.  Joe  hardly  quickened  his  pace,  but  seemed  to  gain. 
She  set  down  her  bucket,  and  turned  back  towards  the  river. 

"Idiot!"  ^ejaculated  the  Boy;  "she  could  have  reached  her 
own  ighloo."  The  dirty  child  grinned,  and  tore  off  towards  the 
river  to  watch  the  fun.  Anna  was  hidden  now  by  a  pile  of  drift 
wood.  The  Boy  ran  down  a  few  yards  to  bring  her  within 
range  again.  For  all  his  affectation  of  leisureliness  and  her 
obvious  fluster,  no  doubt  about  it,  Joe  was  gaining  on  her. 
She  dropped  her  hurried  walk  and  frankly  took  to  her  heels, 
Joe  doing  the  same;  but  as  she  was  nearly  as  fleet  of  foot  as 

198 


PRINCESS   MUCKLUCK 

Muckluck,  in  spite  of  her  fat,  she  still  kept  a  lessening  distance 
between  herself  and  her  pursuer. 

The  ragged  child  had  climbed  upon  the  pile  of  drift-wood, 
and  stood  hunched  with  the  cold,  his  shoulders  up  to  his  ears,  his 
hands  withdrawn  in  his  parki  sleeves,  but  he  was  grinning  still. 
The  Boy,  a  little  concerned  as  to  possible  reprisals  upon  so 
impudent  a  young  woman,  had  gone  on  and  on,  watching  the 
race  down  to  the  river,  and  even  across  the  ice  a  little  way. 
He  stood  still  an  instant  staring  as  Joe,  going  now  as  hard  as 
he  could,  caught  up  with  her  at  last.  He  took  hold  of  the 
daughter  of  the  highly-respected  Yagorsha,  and  fell  to  shaking 
and  cuffing  her.  The  Boy  started  off  full  tilt  to  the  rescue. 
Before  he  could  reach  them  Joe  had  thrown  her  down  on  the 
ice.  She  half  got  up,  but  her  enemy,  advancing  upon  her  again, 
dealt  her  a  blow  that  made  her  howl  and  sent  her  flat  once 
more. 

"Stop  that!    You  hear?    Stop  it!"  the  Boy  called  out. 

But  Joe  seemed  not  to  hear.  Anna  had  fallen  face  down 
ward  on  the  ice  this  time,  and  lay  there  as  if  stunned.  Her 
enemy  caught  hold  of  her,  pulled  her  up,  and  dragged  her 
along  in  spite  of  her  struggles  and  cries. 

"Let  her  alone!"  the  Boy  shouted.  He  was  nearly  up  to 
them  now.  But  Joe's  attention  was  wholly  occupied  in  hauling 
Anna  back  to  the  village,  maltreating  her  at  intervals  by  the 
way.  Now  the  girl  was  putting  up  one  arm  piteously  to  shield 
her  bleeding  face  from  his  fists.  "Don't  you  hit  her  again,  or 
it'll  be  the  worse  for  you."  But  again  Joe's  hand  was  lifted. 
The  Boy  plunged  forward,  caught  the  blow  as  it  descended, 
and  flung  the  arm  aside,  wrenched  the  girl  free,  and  as  Joe  came 
on  again,  looking  as  if  he  meant  business,  the  Boy  planted  a 
sounding  lick  on  his  jaw.  The  Pymeut  staggered,  and  drew  off 
a  little  way,  looking  angry  enough,  but,  to  the  Boy's  surprise, 
showing  no  fight. 

It  occurred  to  him  that  the  girl,  her  lip  bleeding,  her  parki 
torn,  seemed  more  surprised  than  grateful;  and  when  he  said, 
"You  come  back  with  me;  he  shan't  touch  you,"  she  did  not 
show  the  pleased  alacrity  that  you  would  expect.  But  she  was 
no  doubt  still  dazed.  They  all  stood  looking  rather  sheepish, 
and  like  actors  "stuck"  who  cannot  think  of  the  next  line,  till 
Joe  turned  on  the  girl  with  some  mumbled  question.  She 
answered  angrily.  He  made  another  grab  at  her.  She  screamed, 
and  got  behind  the  Boy,  Very  resolutely  he  widened  his  bold 

199 


THE   MAGNETIC   NORTH 

buck-skin  legs,  and  dared  Joe  to   touch   the   poor  frightened 
creature  cowering  behind  her  protector.     Again  silence. 

"What's  the  trouble  between  you  two?" 

They  looked  at  each  other,  and  then  away.  Joe  turned  un 
expectedly,  and  shambled  off  in  the  direction  of  the  village. 
Not  a  word  out  of  Anna  as  she  returned  by  the  side  of  her  pro 
tector,  but  every  now  and  then  she  looked  at  him  sideways. 
The  Boy  felt  her  inexpressive  gratitude,  and  was  glad  his  jour 
ney  had  been  delayed,  or  else,  poor  devil 

Joe  had  stopped  to  speak  to 

"Who  on  earth's  that  white  woman?" 

"Nicholas5  sister." 

"Not  Muckluck?" 

She  nodded. 

"What's  she  dressed  like  that  for?" 

"Often  like  that  in  summer.  Me,  too — me  got  Holy  Cross 
clo'es." 

Muckluck  went  slowly  up  towards  the  Kachime  with  Joe. 
When  the  others  got  to  the  water-hole,  Anna  turned  and  left 
the  Boy  without  a  word  to  go  and  recover  her  pail.  The  Boy 
stood  a  moment,  looking  for  some  sign  of  the  Colonel,  and 
then  went  along  the  river  bank  to  Ol'  Chief's.  No,  the  Colonel 
had  gone  back  to  the  Kachime. 

The  Boy  came  out  again,  and  to  his  almost  incredulous 
astonishment,  there  was  Joe  dragging  the  unfortunate  Anna 
towards  an  ighloo.  As  he  looked  back,  to  steer  straight  for 
the  entrance-hole,  he  caught  sight  of  the  Boy,  dropped  his  prey, 
and  disappeared  with  some  precipitancy  into  the  ground.  When 
Anna  had  gathered  herself  up,  the  Boy  was  standing  in  front 
of  her. 

"You  don't  seem  to  be  able  to  take  very  good  care  o'  your 
self."  She  pushed  her  tousled  hair  out  of  her  eyes.  "I  don't 
wonder  your  own  people  give  it  up  if  you  have  to  be  rescued 
every  half-hour.  What's  the  matter  with  you  and  Joe?"  She 
kept  looking  down.  "What  have  you  done  to  make  him  like 
this?"  She  looked  up  suddenly  and  laughed,  and  then  her  eyes 
fell. 

"Done  nothinV 

"Why  should  he  want  to  kill  you,  then?" 

"No  kill"  she  said,  smiling,  a  little  rueful  and  embarrassed 
again,  with  her  eyes  on  the  ground.  Then,  as  the  Boy  still 
stood  there  waiting,  "Joe,"  she  whispered,  glancing  over  her 
shoulder — "Joe  want  me  be  he  squaw." 

200 


PRINCESS    MUCKLUCK 

The  Boy  fell  back  an  astonished  step. 

"Jee-rusalem !  He's  got  a  pretty  way  o'  sayin'  so.  Why 
don't  you  tell  your  father?" 

"Tell — father?"    It  seemed  never  to  have  occurred  to  her. 

"Yes;  can't  Yagorsha  protect  you?" 

She  looked  about  doubtfully  and  then  over  her  shoulder. 

"That  Joe's  fghloo,"  she  said. 

He  pictured  to  himself  the  horror  that  must  assail  her  blood 
at  the  sight.  Yes,  he  was  glad  to  have  saved  any  woman  from 
so  dreadful  a  fate.  Did  it  happen  often?  and  did  nobody  in 
terfere?  Muckluck  was  coming  down  from  the  direction  of 
the  Kachime.  The  Boy  went  to  meet  her,  throwing  over  his 
shoulder,  "You'd  better  stick  to  me,  Anna,  as  long  as  I'm  here. 
I  don't  know,  I'm  sure,  what'll  happen  to  you  when  I'm  gone." 
Anna  followed  a  few  paces,  and  then  sat  down  on  the  snow  to 
pull  up  and  tie  her  disorganized  leg-gear. 

Muckluck  was  standing  still,  looking  at  the  Boy  with  none  of 
the  kindness  a  woman  ought  to  show  to  one  who  had  just 
befriended  her  sex. 

"Did  you  see  that?" 

She  nodded.     "See  that  any  day." 

The  Boy  stopped,  appalled  at  the  thought  of  woman  in  a  per 
petual  state  of  siege. 

"Brute!  hound!"  he  flung  out  towards  Joe's  ighloo. 

"No,"  says  Muckluck  firmly;  "Joe  all  right." 

"You  say  that,  after  what's  happened  this  morning?"  Muck- 
luck  declined  to  take  the  verdict  back.  "Did  you  see  him  strike 
her?" 

"No  hurt." 

"Oh,  didn't  it?  He  threw  her  down,  as  hard  as  he  could,  on 
the  ice." 

"She  get  up  again." 

He  despised  Muckluck  in  that  moment. 

"You  weren't  sorry  to  see  another  girl  treated  so?" 

She  smiled. 

"What  if  it  had  been  you?" 

"Oh,  he  not  do  that  to  me" 

" Why  not?    You  can't  tell." 

"Oh,  yes."     She  spoke  with  unruffled  serenity. 

"It  will  very  likely  be  you  the  next  time."  The  Boy  took 
a  brutal  pleasure  in  presenting  the  hideous  probability. 

"No,"  she  returned  unmoved.  "Joe  savvy  I  no  marry  Py- 
meut." 

20  T 


THE    MAGNETIC   NORTH 

The  Boy  stared,  mystified  by  the  lack  of  sequence.  "Poor 
Anna  doesn't  want  to  marry  that  Pymeut." 

Muckluck  nodded. 

The  Boy  gave  her  up.  Perversity  was  not  confined  to  the 
civilized  of  her  sex.  He  walked  on  to  find  the  Colonel.  Muck- 
luck  followed,  but  the  Boy  wouldn't  speak  to  her,  wouldn't 
look  at  her. 

"You  like  my  Holy  Cross  clo'es?"  she  inquired.  "Me— I 
look  like  your  kind  of  girls  now,  huh?"  No  answer,  but  she 
kept  up  with  him.  "See?"  She  held  up  proudly  a  medallion, 
or  coin  of  some  sort,  hung  on  a  narrow  strip  of  raw-hide. 

He  meant  not  to  look  at  it  at  all,  and  he  jerked  his  head 
away  after  the  merest  glance  that  showed  him  the  ornament 
was  tarnished  silver,  a  little  bigger  than  an  American  dollar, 
and  bore  no  device  familiar  to  his  eyes.  He  quickened  his  pace, 
and  walked  on  with  face  averted.  The  Colonel  appeared  just 
below  the  Kachime. 

"Well,  aren't  you  ever  comin'?"  he  called  out. 

"I've  been  ready  this  half-hour — hangin'  about  waitin'  for 
you.  That  devil  Joe,"  he  went  on,  lowering  his  voice  as  he  came 
up  and  speaking  hurriedly,  "has  been  trying  to  drag  Yagorsha's 
girl  into  his  ighloo.  They've  just  had  a  fight  out  yonder  on 
the  ice.  I  got  her  away,  but  not  before  he'd  thrown  her  down 
and  given  her  a  bloody  face.  We  ought  to  tell  old  Yagorsha, 
hey?" 

Muckluck  chuckled.  The  Boy  turned  on  her  angrily,  and 
saw  her  staring  back  at  Joe's  ighloo.  There,  sauntering  calmly 
past  the  abhorred  trap,  was  the  story-teller's  daughter.  Past 
it  ?  No.  She  actually  halted  and  busied  herself  with  her  leg 
ging  thong. 

"That  girl  must  be  an  imbecile!"  Or  was  it  the  apparition 
of  her  father,  up  at  the  Kachime  entrance,  that  inspired  such 
temerity? 

The  Boy  had  gone  a  few  paces  towards  her,  and  then  turned. 
"Yagorsha!"  he  called  up  the  slope.  Yagorsha  stood  stock-still, 
although  the  Boy  waved  unmistakable  danger-signals  towards 
Joe's  ighloo.  Suddenly  an  arm  flashed  out  of  the  tunnel,  caught 
Anna  by  the  ankle,  and  in  a  twinkling  she  lay  sprawling  on  her 
back.  Two  hands  shot  out,  seized  her  by  the  heels,  and  dragged 
the  wretched  girl  into  the  brute's  lair.  It  was  all  over  in  a 
flash.  A  moment's  paralysis  of  astonishment,  and  the  involun 
tary  rush  forward  was  arrested  by  Muckluck,  who  fastened  her- 

202 


PRINCESS    MUCKLUCK 

self  on  to  the  rescuer's  parki-tail  and  refused  to  be  detached. 
"Yagorsha!"  shouted  the  Boy.  But  it  was  only  the  Colonel 
who  hastened  towards  them  at  the  summons.  The  poor  girl's 
own  father  stood  calmly  smoking,  up  there,  by  the  Kachime, 
one  foot  propped  comfortably  on  the  travellers'  loaded  sled. 
"Yagorsha!"  he  shouted  again,  and  then,  with  a  jerk  to  free 
himself  from  Muckluck,  the  Boy  turned  sharply  towards  the 
ighloo,  seeming  in  a  bewildered  way  to  be,  himself,  about  to 
transact  this  paternal  business  for  the  cowardly  old  loafer.  But 
Muckluck  clung  to  his  arm,  laughing. 

"Yagorsha  know.  Joe  give  him  nice  mitts — sealskin — new 
mitts." 

"Hear  that,  Colonel?  For  a  pair  of  mitts  he  sells  his  daugh 
ter  to  that  ruffian." 

Without  definite  plan,  quite  vaguely  and  instinctively,  he 
shook  himself  free  from  Muckluck,  and  rushed  down  to  the 
scene  of  the  tragedy.  Muffled  screams  and  yells  issued  with  the 
smoke.  Muckluck  turned  sharply  to  the  Colonel,  who  was 
following,  and  said  something  that  sent  him  headlong  after  the 
Boy.  He  seized  the  doughty  champion  by  the  feet  just  as  he 
was  disappearing  in  the  tunnel,  and  hauled  him  out. 

"What  in  thunder All  right,  you  go  first,  then.    Quick! 

as  more  screams  rent  the  still  air. 

"Don't  be  a  fool.  You've  been  interruptin'  the  weddin' 
ceremonies." 

Muckluck  had  caught  up  with  them,  and  Yagorsha  was  ad 
vancing  leisurely  across  the  snow. 

"She  no  want  you"  whispered  Muckluck  to  the  Boy.  ''She 
like  Joe — like  him  best  of  all."  Then,  as  the  Boy  gaped  in 
credulously:  "She  tell  me  heap  long  time  ago  she  want  Joe." 

"That's  just  part  of  the  weddin'  festivity,"  says  the  Colonel, 
as  renewed  shrieks  issued  from  under  the  snow.  "You've  been 
an  officious  interferer,  and  I  think  the  sooner  I  get  you  out  o' 
Pymeut  the  healthier  it'll  be  for  you." 

The  Boy  was  too  flabbergasted  to  reply,  but  he  was  far  from 
convinced.  The  Colonel  turned  back  to  apologise  to  Yagorsha. 

"No  like  this  in  your  country?"  inquired  Muckluck  of  the 
crestfallen  champion. 

"N-no — not  exactly." 

"When  you  like  girl — what  you  do?" 

"Tell  her  so,"  muttered  the  Boy  mechanically. 

"Well — Joe  been  tellin'  Anna — all  winter." 

203 


THE    MAGNETIC   NORTH 

"And  she  hated  him." 

"No.     She  like  Joe— best  of  any." 

"What  did  she  go  on  like  that  for,  then?" 

"Oh-h!     She  know  Joe  savvy." 

The  Boy  felt  painfully  small  at  his  own  lack  of  savoir,  but  no 
less  angry. 

"When  you  marry" — he  turned  to  her  incredulously — "will 
it  be" — again  the  shrieks — "like  this?" 

"I  no  marry  Pymeut." 

Glancing  riverwards,  he  saw  the  dirty  imp,  who  had  been 
50  wildly  entertained  by  the  encounter  on  the  ice,  still  huddled 
on  his  drift-wood  observatory,  presenting  as  little  surface  to 
the  cold  as  possible,  but  grinning  still  with  rapture  at  the  spir 
ited  last  act  of  the  winter-long  drama.  As  the  Boy,  with  an 
exclamation  of  "Well,  I  give  it  up,"  walked  slowly  across  the 
slope  after  the  Colonel  and  Yagorsha,  Muckluck  lingered  at 
his  side. 

"In  your  country  when  girl  marry — she  no  scream?" 

"Well,  no ;  not  usually,  I  believe." 

"She  go  quiet?    Like — like  she  want "     Muckluck  stood 

still  with  astonishment  and  outraged  modesty. 

"They  agree,"  he  answered  irritably.  "They  don't  go  on 
like  wild  beasts." 

Muckluck  pondered  deeply  this  matter  of  supreme  impor 
tance. 

"When  you — get  you  squaw,  you  no  make  her  come?" 

The  Boy  shook  his  head,  and  turned  away  to  cut  short  these 
excursions  into  comparative  ethnology. 

But  Muckluck  was  athirst  for  the  strange  new  knowledge. 

"What  you  do?" 

He  declined  to  betray  his  plan  of  action. 

"When  you— all  same  Joe?    Hey?" 

Still  no  answer. 

"When  you  know — girl  like  you  best — you  no  drag  her 
home?" 

||No.     Be  quiet." 

"No?  How  you  marry  you  self,  then?" 

The  conversation  would  be  still  more  embarrassing  before 
the  Colonel,  so  he  stopped,  and  said  shortly:  "In  our  country 
nobody  beats  a  woman  because  he  likes  her." 

"How  she  know,  then?" 

"They  agree,  I  tell  you." 

204 


PRINCESS    MUCKLUCK 

"Oh — an'  girl — just  come — when  he  call?  Oh-h!"  She 
dropped  her  jaw,  and  stared.  "No  fight  a  little?"  she  gasped. 
"No  scream  quite  small?" 

'Wo,  I  tell  you."  He  ran  on  and  joined  the  Colonel.  Muck- 
luck  stood  several  moments  rooted  in  amazement. 

Yagorsha  had  called  the  rest  of  the  Pymeuts  out,  for  these 
queer  guests  of  theirs  were  evidently  going  at  last. 

They  all  said  "Goo'-bye"  with  great  goodwill.  Only  Muck- 
luck  in  her  chilly  "Holy  Cross  clo'es"  stood  sorrowful  and 
silent,  swinging  her  medal  slowly  back  and  forth. 

Nicholas  warned  them  that  the  Pymeut  air-hole  was  not  the 
only  one. 

"No,"  Yagorsha  called  down  the  slope;  "better  no  play  tricks 
with  him."  He  nodded  towards  the  river  as  the  travellers 
looked  back.  "Him  no  like.  Him  got  heap  plenty  mouths — 
chew  you  up."  And  all  Pymeut  chuckled,  delighted  at  their 
story-teller's  wit. 

Suddenly  Muckluck  broke  away  from  the  group,  and  ran 
briskly  down  to  the  river  trail. 

"I  will  pray  for  you — hard."  She  caught  hold  of  the  Boy's 
hand,  and  shook  it  warmly.  "Sister  Winifred  says  the  Good 
Father " 

"Fact  is,  Muckluck,"  answered  the  Boy,  disengaging  himself 
with  embarrassment,  "my  pardner  here  can  hold  up  that  end. 
Don't  you  think  you'd  better  square  Yukon  Inua?  Don't 
b'lieve  he  likes  me." 

And  they  left  her,  shivering  in  her  "Holy  Cross  clo'es," 
staring  after  them,  and  sadly  swinging  her  medal  on  its  walrus- 
string. 

"I  don't  mind  sayin'  I'm  glad  to  leave  Pymeut  behind,"  said 
the  Colonel. 

"Same  here." 

"You're  safe  to  get  into  a  muss  if  you  mix  up  with  anything 
that  has  to  do  with  women.  That  Muckluck  o'  yours  is  a 
minx." 

"She  ain't  my  Muckluck,  and  I  don't  believe  she's  a  minx,  not 
a  little  bit." 

Not  wishing  to  be  too  hard  on  his  pardner,  the  Colonel  added : 

"I  lay  it  all  to  the  chaparejos  myself."  Then,  observing  his 
friend's  marked  absence  of  hilarity,  "You're  very  gay  in  your 
fine  fringes." 

"Been  a  little  too  gay  the  last  two  or  three  hours." 

205 


THE    MAGNETIC   NORTH 

"Well,  now,  I'm  glad  to  hear  you  say  that.  I  think  myself 
we've  had  adventures  enough  right  here  at  the  start." 

"I  b'lieve  you.  But  there's  something  in  that  idea  o'  yours. 
Other  fellas  have  noticed  the  same  tendency  in  chaparejos." 

"Well,  if  the  worst  comes  to  the  worst,"  drawled  the  Colonel, 
"we'll  change  breeches." 

The  suggestion  roused  no  enthusiasm. 

"B'lieve  I'd  have  a  cammin'  influence.  Yes,  sir,  I  reckon  I 
could  keep  those  fringes  out  o'  kinks." 

"Oh,  I  think  they'll  go  straight  enough  after  this";  and  the 
Boy's  good  spirits  returned  before  they  passed  the  summer  vil 
lage. 

It  came  on  to  snow  again,  about  six  o'clock,  that  second  day 
out,  and  continued  steadily  all  the  night.  What  did  it  matter  ? 
They  were  used  to  snow,  and  they  were  as  jolly  as  clams  at 
high-tide. 

The  Colonel  called  a  halt  in  the  shelter  of  a  frozen  slough, 
between  two  banks,  sparsely  timbered,  but  promising  all  the 
wood  they  needed,  old  as  well  as  new.  He  made  his  camp 
fire  on  the  snow,  and  the  Boy  soon  had  the  beef-tea  ready — 
always  the  first  course  so  long  as  Liebig  lasted. 

Thereafter,  while  the  bacon  was  frying  and  the  tea  brewing, 
the  Colonel  stuck  up  in  the  snow  behind  the  fire  some  sticks  on 
which  to  dry  their  foot-gear.  When  he  pulled  off  his  mucklucks 
his  stockinged  feet  smoked  in  the  frosty  air.  The  hint  was  all 
that  was  needed,  that  first  night  on  the  trail,  for  the  Boy  to 
follow  suit  and  make  the  change  into  dry  things.  The  smoky 
background  was  presently  ornamented  with  German  socks,  and 
Arctic  socks  (a  kind  of  felt  slipper),  and  mucklucks,  each  with 
a  stick  run  through  them  to  the  toe,  all  neatly  planted  in  a  row, 
like  monstrous  products  of  a  snow-garden.  With  dry  feet, 
burning  faces  and  chilly  backs,  they  hugged  the  fire,  ate  supper, 
laughed  and  talked,  and  said  that  life  on  the  trail  wasn't  half 
bad.  Afterwards  they  rolled  themselves  in  their  blankets,  and 
went  to  sleep  on  their  spruce-bough  spring  mattresses  spread 
near  the  fire  on  the  snow. 

After  about  half  an  hour  of  oblivion  the  Boy  started  up  with 
the  drowsy  impression  that  a  flying  spark  from  the  dying  fire 
had  set  their  stuff  ablaze.  No.  But  surely  the  fire  had  been 
made  up  again — and — he  rubbed  the  sleep  out  of  his  incredulous 
eyes — yes,  Muckluck  was  standing  there ! 

"What  in  thunder!"  he  began.     "Wh-what  is  it?" 

206 


PRINCESS   MUCKLUCK 

"It  is  me." 

"I  can  see  that  much.    But  what  brings  you  here?" 

Shivering  with  cold,  she  crouched  close  to  the  fire,  dressed, 
as  he  could  see  now,  in  her  native  clothes  again,  and  it  was  her 
parki  that  had  scorched — was  scorching  still. 

"Me — I "  Smiling,  she  drew  a  stiff  hand  out  of  its  mit 
ten  and  held  it  over  the  reviving  blaze,  glancing  towards  the 
Colonel.  He  seemed  to  be  sleeping  very  sound,  powdered  over 
already  with  soft  wet  snow;  but  she  whispered  her  next  re 
mark. 

"I  think  I  come  help  you  find  that  Onge  Grove." 

"I  think  you'll  do  nothing  of  the  kind."  He  also  spoke  with 
a  deliberate  lowering  of  the  note.  His  great  desire  not  to 
wake  the  Colonel  gave  an  unintentional  softness  to  his  tone. 

"You  think  winter  bad  time  for  squaws  to  travel?"  She 
shook  her  head,  and  showed  her  beautiful  teeth  an  instant  in 
the  faint  light.  Then,  rising,  half  shy,  but  very  firm,  "I  no 
wait  till  summer." 

He  was  so  appalled  for  the  moment,  at  the  thought  of  having 
her  on  their  hands,  all  this  way  from  Pymeut,  on  a  snowy  night, 
that  words  failed  him.  As  she  watched  him  she,  too,  grew 
grave. 

"You  say  me  nice  girl." 

"When  did  I  say  that?"  He  clutched  his  head  in  despair. 

"When  you  first  come.  When  Shaman  make  Ol'  Chief  all 
well." 

"I  don't  remember  it." 

"Yes/' 

"I  think  you  misunderstood  me,  Muckluck." 

"Heh?"  Her  countenance  fell,  but  more  puzzled  than 
wounded. 

"That  is — oh,  yes — of  course — you're  a  nice  girl." 

"I  think — Anna,  too — you  like  me  best."  She  helped  out 
the  white  man's  bashfulness.  But  as  her  interlocutor,  appalled, 
laid  no  claim  to  the  sentiment,  she  lifted  the  mittened  hand  to 
her  eyes,  and  from  under  it  scanned  the  white  face  through 
the  lightly  falling  snow.  The  other  hand,  still  held  out  to  the 
comfort  of  the  smoke,  was  trembling  a  little,  perhaps  not  alto 
gether  with  the  cold. 

"The  Colonel  '11  have  to  take  over  the  breeches,"  said  the 
Boy,  with  the  air  of  one  wandering  in  his  head.  Then,  desper 
ately:  "What  am  I  to  do?  What  am  I  to  say?" 

207 


THE   MAGNETIC   NORTH 

"Say?  You  say  you  no  like  girl  scream,  no  like  her  fight  like 
Anna.  Heh?  So,  me — I  come  like  your  girls — quite,  quite 
good.  .  .  .  Heh?" 

"You  don't  understand,  Muckluck.  I — you  see,  I  could 
never  find  that  Orange  Grove  if  you  came  along." 

"Why?" 

"Well — a — no  woman  ever  goes  to  help  to  find  an  Orange 
Grove.  Th-there's  a  law  against  it." 

"Heh?    Law?" 

Alas!  she  knew  too  little  to  be  impressed  by  the  Majesty 
invoked. 

"You  see,  women,  they — they  come  by-and-by — when  the 
Orange  Grove's  all — all  ready  for  'em.  No  man  ever  takes  a 
woman  on  that  kind  of  hunt." 

Her  saddened  face  was  very  grave.    The  Boy  took  heart. 

"Now,  the  Pymeuts  are  going  in  a  week  or  two,  Nicholas 
said,  to  hunt  caribou  in  the  hills." 

"Yes." 

"But  they  won't  take  you  to  hunt  caribou.  No ;  they  leave 
you  at  home.  It's  exactly  the  same  with  Orange  Groves.  No 
nice  girl  ever  goes  hunting." 

Her  lip  trembled. 

"Me— I  can  fish." 

"Course  you  can."  His  spirits  were  reviving.  "You  can 
do  anything — except  hunt."  As  she  lifted  her  head  with  an 
air  of  sudden  protest  he  quashed  her.  "From  the  beginning 
there's  been  a  law  against  that.  Squaws  must  stay  at  home 
and  let  the  men  do  the  huntin'." 

"Me  ...  I  can  cook" — she  was  crying  now — "while  you 
hunt.  Good  supper  all  ready  when  you  come  home." 

He  shook  his  head  solemnly. 

"Perhaps  you  don't  know" — she  flashed  a  moment's  hope 
through  her  tears — "me  learn  sew  up  at  Holy  Cross.  Sew  up 
your  socks  for  you  when  they  open  their  mouths."  But  she 
could  see  that  not  even  this  grand  new  accomplishment  availed. 

"Can  help  pull  sled,"  she  suggested,  looking  round  a  little 
wildly  as  if  instantly  to  illustrate.  "Never  tired,"  she  added, 
sobbing,  and  putting  her  hands  up  to  her  face. 

"Sh!  sh!  Don't  wake  the  Colonel."  He  got  up  hastily  and 
stood  beside  her  at  the  smouldering  fire.  He  patted  her  on  the 
shoulder.  "Of  course  you're  a  nice  girl.  The  nicest  girl  in 
the  Yukon" — he  caught  himself  up  as  she  dropped  her  hands 
from  her  face — "that  is,  you  will  be,  if  you  go  home  quietly." 

208 


PRINCESS    MUCKLUCK 

Again  she  hid  her  eyes. 

Go  home  ?  How  could  he  send  her  home  all  that  way  at  this 
time  of  night?  It  was  a  bothering  business! 

Again  her  hands  fell  from  the  wet  unhappy  face.  She  shiv 
ered  a  little  when  she  met  his  frowning  looks,  and  turned  away. 
He  stooped  and  picked  up  her  mitten.  Why,  you  couldn't  turn 
a  dog  away  on  a  night  like  this 

Plague  take  the  Pymeuts,  root  and  branch !  She  had  shuffled 
her  feet  into  her  snow-shoe  straps,  and  moved  off  in  the  dim 
ness.  But  for  the  sound  of  sobbing,  he  could  not  have  told  just 
where,  in  the  softly-falling  snow,  Muckluck's  figure  was  fading 
into  the  dusk.  He  hurried  after  her,  conscience-stricken,  but 
most  unwilling. 

"Look  here,"  he  said,  when  he  had  caught  up  with  her,  "I'm 
sorry  you  came  all  this  way  in  the  cold — very  sorry."  Her  sobs 
burst  out  afresh,  and  louder  now,  away  from  the  Colonel's 
restraining  presence.  "But,  see  here:  I  can't  send  you  off  like 
this.  You  might  die  on  the  trail." 

"Yes,  I  think  me  die,"  she  agreed. 

"No,  don't  do  that.  Come  back,  and  we'll  tell  the  Colonel 
you're  going  to  stay  by  the  fire  till  morning,  and  then  go  home." 

She  walked  steadily  on.     "No,  I  go  now." 

"But  you  can't,  Muckluck.    You  can't  find  the  trail." 

"I  tell  you  before,  I  not  like  your  girls.  I  can  go  in  winter 
as  good  as  summer.  I  can  hunt!"  She  turned  on  him  fiercely. 
"Once  I  hunt  a  owel.  Ketch  him,  too!"  She  sniffed  back  her 
tears.  "I  can  do  all  kinds." 

"No,  you  can't  hunt  Orange  Groves,"  he  said,  with  a  severity 
that  might  seem  excessive.  "But  I  can't  let  you  go  off  in  this 
snowstorm " 

"He  soon  stop.     Goo'-bye." 

Never  word  of  sweeter  import  in  his  ears  than  that.  But  he 
was  far  from  satisfied  with  his  conduct  all  the  same.  It  was 
quite  possible  that  the  Pymeuts,  discovering  her  absence,  would 
think  he  had  lured  her  away,  and  there  might  be  complications. 
So  it  was  with  small  fervour  that  he  said:  "Muckluck,  I  wish 
you'd  come  back  and  wait  till  morning." 

"No,  I  go  now."  She  was  in  the  act  of  darting  forward  on 
those  snow-shoes,  that  she  used  so  skillfully,  when  some  sudden 
thought  cried  halt.  She  even  stopped  crying.  "I  no  like  go 
near  blow-hole  by  night.  I  keep  to  trail " 

"But  how  the  devil  do  you  do  it?" 

209 


THE    MAGNETIC   NORTH 

She  paid  no  heed  to  the  interruption,  seeming  busy  in  taking 
something  over  her  head  from  round  her  neck. 

"To-morrow,"  she  said,  lowering  her  tear-harshened  voice, 
"you  find  blow-hole.  You  give  this  to  Yukon  Inua — say  I  send 
it.  He  will  not  hate  you  any  more."  She  burst  into  a  fresh  flood 
of  tears.  In  a  moment  the  dim  sight  of  her,  the  faint  trail  of 
crying  left  in  her  wake,  had  so  wholly  vanished  that,  but  for  the 
bit  of  string,  as  it  seemed  to  be,  left  in  his  half-frozen  hands,  he 
could  almost  have  convinced  himself  he  had  dreamt  the  unwel 
come  visit. 

The  half-shut  eye  of  the  camp  fire  gleamed  cheerfully,  as  he 
ran  back,  and  crouched  down  where  poor  little  Muckluck  had 
knelt,  so  sure  of  a  welcome.  Muckluck,  cogitated  the  Boy, 
will  believe  more  firmly  than  ever  that,  if  a  man  doesn't  beat 
a  girl,  he  doesn't  mean  business.  What  was  it  he  had  wound 
round  one  hand?  What  was  it  dangling  in  the  acrid  smoke? 
That,  then — her  trinket,  the  crowning  ornament  of  her  Holy 
Cross  holiday  attire,  that  was  what  she  was  offering  the  old  ogre 
of  the  Yukon — for  his  unworthy  sake.  He  stirred  up  the  dying 
fire  to  see  it  better.  A  woman's  face — some  Catholic  saint? 
He  held  the  medal  lower  to  catch  the  fitful  blaze.  "D.  G.  Au- 
tocratrix  Russorum"  The  Great  Katharine!  Only  a  little 
crown  on  her  high-rolled  hair,  and  her  splendid  chest  all  un 
covered  to  the  Arctic  cold. 

Her  Yukon  subjects  must  have  wondered  that  she  wore  no 
parki — this  lady  who  had  claimed  sole  right  to  all  the  finest 
sables  found  in  her  new  American  dominions.  On  the  other 
side  of  the  medal,  Minerva,  with  a  Gorgon-furnished  shield  and 
a  beautiful  bone-tipped  harpoon,  as  it  looked,  with  a  throwing- 
stick  and  all  complete.  But  she,  too,  would  strike  the  Yukon 
eye  as  lamentably  chilly  about  the  legs.  How  had  these  ladies 
out  of  Russia  and  Olympus  come  to  lodge  in  Ol'  Chief's  ighloo? 
Had  Glovotsky  won  this  guerdon  at  Great  Katharine's  hands? 
Had  he  brought  it  on  that  last  long  journey  of  his  to  Russian 
America,  and  left  it  to  his  Pymeut  children  with  his  bones? 
Well,  Yukon  Inua  should  not  have  it  yet.  The  Boy  thrust  the 
medal  into  a  pocket  of  his  chaparejos,  and  crawled  into  his  snow- 
covered  bed. 


210 


CHAPTER   XI 

HOLY   CROSS 

"Raise  the  stone,  and  ye  shall  find  me;  cleave  the  wood,  and  there  am  I." 

THE  stars  were  shining  frostily,  in  a  clear  sky,  when  the 
Boy  crawled  out  from  under  his  snow-drift  in  the  morn- 
.ing.  He  built  up  the  fire,  quaking  in  the  bitter  air,  and 
bustled  the  breakfast. 

"You  seem  to  be  in  something  of  a  hurry,"  said  the  Colonel, 
with  a  yawn  stifled  in  a  shiver. 

"We  haven't  come  on  this  trip  to  lie  abed  in  the  morning," 
his  pardner  returned  with  some  solemnity.  "I  don't  care  how 
soon  I  begin  caperin'  ahead  with  that  load  again." 

"Well,  it'll  be  warmin',  anyway,"  returned  the  Colonel,  "and 
I  can't  say  as  much  for  your  fire." 

It  was  luck  that  the  first  forty  miles  of  the  trail  had  already 
been  traversed  by  the  Boy.  He  kept  recognising  this  and  that 
in  the  landscape,  with  an  effect  of  good  cheer  on  both  of  them. 
It  postponed  a  little  the  realization  of  their  daring  in  launch 
ing  themselves  upon  the  Arctic  waste,  without  a  guide  or  even 
a  map  that  was  of  the  smallest  use. 

Half  an  hour  after  setting  off,  they  struck  into  the  portage. 
Even  with  a  snow-blurred  trail,  the  Boy's  vivid  remembrance 
of  the  other  journey  gave  them  the  sustaining  sense  that  they 
were  going  right.  The  Colonel  was  working  off  the  surpris 
ing  stiffness  with  which  he  had  wakened,  and  they  were  both 
warm  now;  but  the  Colonel's  footsoreness  was  considerable, 
an  affliction,  besides,  bound  to  be  worse  before  it  was  better. 

The  Boy  spoke  with  the  old-timer's  superiority,  of  his  own 
experience,  and  was  so  puffed  up,  at  the  bare  thought  of  having 
hardened  his  feet,  that  he  concealed  without  a  qualm  the  fact 
of  a  brand-new  blister  on  his  heel.  A  mere  nothing  that,  not 
worth  mentioning  to  anyone  who  remembered  the  state  he  was 
in  at  the  end  of  that  awful  journey  of  penitence. 

It  was  well  on  in  the  afternoon  before  it  began  to  snow 

211 


THE    MAGNETIC   NORTH 

again,  and  they  had  reached  the  frozen  lake.  The  days  were 
lengthening,  and  they  still  had  good  light  by  which  to  find 
the  well-beaten  trail  on  the  other  side. 

"Now  in  a  minute  we'll  hear  the  mission  dogs.  What  did  I 
tell  you?"  Out  of  the  little  wood,  a  couple  of  teams  were  com 
ing,  at  a  good  round  pace.  They  were  pulled  up  at  the  water- 
hole,  and  the  mission  natives  ran  on  to  meet  the  new  arrivals. 
They  recognised  the  Boy,  and  insisted  on  making  the  Colonel, 
who  was  walking  very  lame,  ride  to  the  mission  in  the  strong 
est  sled,  and  they  took  turns  helping  the  dogs  by  pushing  from 
behind.  The  snow  was  falling  heavily  again,  and  one  of  the 
Indians,  Henry,  looking  up  with  squinted  eyes,  said,  "There'll 
be  nothing  left  of  that  walrus-tusk." 

"Hey?"  inquired  the  Boy,  straining  at  his  sled-rope  and 
bending  before  the  blast.  "What's  that?" 

"Don't  you  know  what  makes  snow?"  said  Henry. 

"No.    What  does?" 

"Ivory  whittlings.  When  they  get  to  their  carving  up  yon 
der  then  we  have  snow." 

What  was  happening  to  the  Colonel? 

The  mere  physical  comfort  of  riding,  instead  of  serving  as 
packhorse,  great  as  it  was,  not  even  that  could  so  instantly 
spirit  away  the  weariness,  and  light  up  the  curious,  solemn 
radiance  that  shone  on  the  Colonel's  face.  It  struck  the  Boy 
that  good  old  Kentucky  would  look  like  that  when  he  met  his 
dearest  at  the  Gate  of  Heaven — if  there  was  such  a  place. 

The  Colonel  was  aware  of  the  sidelong  wonder  of  his  com 
rade's  glance,  for  the  sleds,  abreast,  had  come  to  a  momentary 
halt.  But  still  he  stared  in  front  of  him,  just  as  a  sailor  in  a 
storm  dares  not  look  away  from  the  beacon-light  an  instant, 
knowing  all  the  waste  about  him  abounds  in  rocks  and  eddies 
and  in  death,  and  all  the  world  of  hope  and  safe  returning  is 
narrowed  to  that  little  point  of  light. 

After  the  moment's  speculation  the  Boy  turned  his  eyes  to 
follow  the  Colonel's  gaze  into  space. 

"The  Cross!  the  Cross!"  said  the  man  on  the  sled.  "Don't 
you  see  it?" 

"Oh,  that?    Yes." 

At  the  Boy's  tone  the  Colonel,  for  the  first  time,  turned  his 
eyes  away  from  the  Great  White  Symbol. 

"Don't  know  what  you're  made  of,  if,  seeing  that  .  .  .  you 
needn't  be  a  Church  member,  but  only  a  man,  I  should  think, 

212 


HOLY   CROSS 

to — to "  He  blew  out  his  breath  in  impotent  clouds,  and 

then  went  on.  "We  Americans  think  a  good  deal  o'  the  Stars 
and  Stripes,  but  that  up  yonder — that's  the  mightier  symbol." 

"Huh!"  says  the  Boy. 

"Stars  and  Stripes  tell  of  an  ideal  of  united  states.  That  up 
there  tells  of  an  ideal  of  United  Mankind.  It's  the  great 
Brotherhood  Mark.  There  isn't  any  other  standard  that  men 
would  follow  just  to  build  a  hospice  in  a  place  like  this." 

At  an  upper  window,  in  a  building  on  the  far  side  of  the 
white  symbol,  the  travellers  caught  a  glimpse,  through  the 
slanting  snow,  of  one  of  the  Sisters  of  St.  Ann  shutting  in  the 
bright  light  with  thick  curtains. 

"Glass!"  ejaculated  the  Colonel. 

One  of  the  Indians  had  run  on  to  announce  them,  and  as 
they  drew  up  at  the  door — that  the  Boy  remembered  as  a  frame 
for  Brother  Paul,  with  his  lamp,  to  search  out  iniquity,  and 
his  face  of  denunciation — out  came  Father  Brachet,  brisk,  al 
most  running,  his  two  hands  outstretched,  his  face  a  network 
of  welcoming  wrinkles.  No  long  waiting,  this  time,  in  the 
reception-room.  Straight  upstairs  to  hot  baths  and  mild,  re 
viving  drinks,  and  then,  refreshed  and  already  rested,  down  to 
supper. 

With  a  shade  of  anxiety  the  Boy  looked  about  for  Brother 
Paul.  But  Father  Wills  was  here  anyhow,  and  the  Boy 
greeted  him,  joyfully,  as  a  tried  friend  and  a  man  to  be  de 
pended  on.  There  was  Brother  Etienne,  and  there  were  two 
strange  faces. 

Father  Brachet  put  the  Colonel  on  his  right  and  the  Boy 
on  his  left,  introducing:  "Fazzer  Richmond,  my  predecessor 
as  ze  head  of  all  ze  Alaskan  missions,"  calmly  eliminating 
Greek,  Episcopalian,  and  other  heretic  establishments.  "Faz 
zer  Richmond  you  must  have  heard  much  of.  He  is  ze  great 
ausority  up  here.  He  is  now  ze  Travelling  Priest.  You  can 
ask  him  all.  He  knows  everysing." 

In  no  wise  abashed  by  this  flourish,  Father  Richmond  shook 
hands  with  the  Big  Chimney  men,  smiling,  and  with  a  pleasant 
ease  that  communicated  itself  to  the  entire  company. 

It  was  instantly  manifest  that  the  scene  of  this  Jesuit's 
labours  had  not  been  chiefly,  or  long,  beyond  the  borders  of 
civilisation.  In  the  plain  bare  room  where,  for  all  its  hos 
pitality  and  good  cheer,  reigned  an  air  of  rude  simplicity  and 
austerity  of  life — into  this  somewhat  rarefied  atmosphere 

213 


THE    MAGNETIC   NORTH 

Father  Richmond  brought  a  whiff  from  another  world.  As 
he  greeted  the  two  strangers,  and  said  simply  that  he  had  just 
arrived,  himself,  by  way  of  the  Anvik  portage,  the  Colonel  felt 
that  he  must  have  meant  from  New  York  or  from  Paris  in 
stead  of  the  words  he  added,  "from  St.  Michael's." 

He  claimed  instant  kinship  with  the  Colonel  on  the  strength 
of  their  both  being  Southerners. 

"I'm  a  Baltimore  man,"  he  said,  with  an  accent  no  Mary- 
lander  can  purge  of  pride. 

"How  long  since  you've  been  home?" 

"Oh,  I  go  back  every  year." 

"He  goes  all  over  ze  world,  to  tell  ze  people " 

" something   of   the   work   being   done   here   by   Father 

Brachet — and  all  of  them."  He  included  the  other  priests  and 
lay-brothers  in  a  slight  circular  movement  of  the  grizzled 
head. 

And  to  collect  funds!  the  Colonel  rightly  divined,  little 
guessing  how  triumphantly  he  achieved  that  end. 

"Alaska  is  so  remote,"  said  the  Travelling  Priest,  as  if  in 
apology  for  popular  ignorance,  "and  people  think  of  it  so  ... 
inadequately,  shall  we  say?  In  trying  to  explain  the  condi 
tions  up  here,  I  have  my  chief  difficulty  in  making  them  realise 
the  great  distances  we  have  to  cover.  You  tell  them  that  in 
the  Indian  tongue  Alaska  means  "the  great  country,"  they 
smile,  and  think  condescendingly  of  savage  imagery.  It  is  vain 
to  say  we  have  an  area  of  six  hundred  thousand  square  miles. 
We  talk  much  in  these  days  of  education;  but  few  men  and 
no  women  can  count!  Our  Eastern  friends  get  some  idea  of 
what  we  mean,  when  we  tell  them  Alaska  is  bigger  than  all 
the  Atlantic  States  from  Maine  to  Louisiana  with  half  of  great 
Texas  thrown  in.  With  a  coast-line  of  twenty-six  thousand 
miles,  this  Alaska  of  ours  turns  to  the  sea  a  greater  frontage 
than  all  the  shores  of  all  the  United  States  combined.  It  ex 
tends  so  far  out  towards  Asia  that  it  carries  the  dominions  of 
the  Great  Republic  as  far  west  of  San  Francisco  as  New  York 
is  east  of  it,  making  California  a  central  State.  I  try  to  give 
Europeans  some  idea  of  it  by  saying  that  if  you  add  England, 
Ireland,  and  Scotland  together,  and  to  that  add  France,  and 
to  that  add  Italy,  you  still  lack  enough  to  make  a  country  the 
size  of  Alaska.  I  do  not  speak  of  our  mountains,  seventeen, 
eighteen,  nineteen  thousand  feet  high,  and  our  Yukon,  flow 
ing  for  more  than  two  thousand  miles  through  a  country  al 
most  virgin  still." 

214 


HOLY   CROSS 

"You  travel  about  up  here  a  good  deal?" 

"He  travels  all  ze  time.  He  will  not  rest,"  said  Father 
Brachet  as  one  airing  an  ancient  grievance. 

"Yes,  I  will  rest  now — a  little.  I  have  been  eight  hundred 
miles  over  the  ice,  with  dogs,  since  January  I." 

The  Boy  looked  at  him  with  something  very  like  reverence. 
Here  was  a  man  who  could  give  you  tips! 

"You  have  travelled  abroad,  too,"  the  Colonel  rather  stated 
than  asked. 

"I  spent  a  good  deal  of  my  youth  in  France  and  Germany." 

"Educated  over  there?" 

"Well,  I  am  a  Johns  Hopkins  man,  but  I  may  say  I  found 
my  education  in  Rome.  Speaking  of  education" — he  turned  to 
the  other  priests — "I  have  greatly  advanced  my  grammar  since 
we  parted."  Father  Brachet  answered  with  animation  in 
French,  and  the  conversation  went  forward  for  some  minutes 
in  that  tongue.  The  discussion  was  interrupted  to  introduce 
the  other  new  face,  at  the  bottom  of  the  table,  to  the  Big  Chim 
ney  men:  "Resident  Fazzer  Roget  of  ze  Kuskoquim  mission." 

"That  is  the  best  man  on  snow-shoes  in  Central  Alaska," 
said  Father  Richmond  low  to  the  Colonel,  nodding  at  the 
Kuskoquim  priest. 

"And  he  knows  more  of  two  of  ze  native  dialects  here  zan 
anyone  else,"  added  the  Father  Superior. 

"You  must  forgive  our  speaking  much  of  the  Indian 
tongues,"  said  Father  Richmond.  "We  are  all  making  diction 
aries  and  grammars;  we  have  still  to  translate  much  of  our 
religious  instruction,  and  the  great  variety  in  dialect  of  the 
scattered  tribes  keeps  us  busy  with  linguistic  studies." 

"To-morrow  you  must  see  our  schools,"  said  Father  Brachet. 

But  the  Boy  answered  quickly  that  they  could  not  afford  the 
time.  He  was  surprised  at  the  Colonel's  silence;  but  the  Boy 
didn't  know  what  the  Colonel's  feet  felt  like. 

Kentucky  ain't  sorry,  he  said  to  himself,  to  have  a  back  to 
his  chair,  and  to  eat  off  china  again.  Kentucky's  a  voluptuary ! 
I'll  have  to  drag  him  away  by  main  force;  and  the  Boy  al 
lowed  Father  Richmond  to  help  him  yet  more  abundantly  to 
the  potatoes  and  cabbage  grown  last  summer  in  the  mission 
garden ! 

It  was  especially  the  vegetables  that  lent  an  element  of 
luxury  to  the  simple  meal.  The  warm  room,  the  excellent 
food,  better  cooked  than  any  they  had  had  for  seven  months, 

215 


THE    MAGNETIC   NORTH 

produced  a  gentle  somnolence.  The  thought  of  the  inviting 
look  of  the  white-covered  bed  upstairs  lay  like  a  balm  on  the 
spirits  of  men  not  born  to  roughing  it.  As  the  travellers  said 
an  early  and  grateful  good-night,  the  Boy  added  sleepily  some 
thing  about  the  start  at  dawn. 

Father  Brachet  answered,  "Morning  will  bring  counsel,  my 
son.  I  sink  ze  bleezzar-r  will  not  let  us  lose  you  so  soon." 

They  overslept  themselves,  and  they  knew  it,  in  that  way 
the  would-be  early  riser  does,  before  ever  he  looks  into  the 
accusing  face  of  his  watch.  The  Boy  leapt  out  of  bed. 

"Hear  that?"  The  wind  was  booming  among  the  settle 
ment  buildings.  "Sounds  as  if  there  was  weather  outside."  A 
glance  between  the  curtains  showed  the  great  gale  at  its  height. 
The  snow  blew  level  in  sheets  and  darkened  the  air. 

"Well,"  said  the  Colonel,  splashing  mightily  in  the  ice-cold 
water,  "I  don't  know  as  I  mind  giving  my  feet  twenty-four 
hours'  time  to  come  to  their  senses." 

A  hurried  toilet  and  they  went  downstairs,  sharp-set  for 
breakfast  after  the  long,  refreshing  sleep. 

Father  Richmond  was  writing  on  his  knee  by  the  stove  in 
the  reception-room. 

"Good-morning — good-morning."  He  rang  the  bell. 
"Well,  what  did  we  tell  you?  I  don't  think  you'll  get  far  to 
day.  Let  these  gentlemen  know  when  breakfast  is  ready,"  he 
said,  as  Christopher  put  his  head  in.  He  looked  at  his  watch. 
"I  hope  you  will  find  everything  you  need,"  he  said ;  and,  con 
tinuing  to  talk  about  the  gale  and  some  damage  it  had  done  to 
one  of  the  outbuildings,  he  went  into  the  entry,  just  beyond  the 
reception-room  door,  and  began  to  put  on  his  furs. 

"You  are  not  going  out  in  such  weather!"  the  Colonel  called 
after  him  incredulously. 

"Only  as  far  as  the  church." 

"Oh,  is  there  church  to-day?"  inquired  the  Boy  more  cheer 
fully  than  one  might  expect. 

The  Colonel  started  and  made  a  signal  for  discretion. 

"Blest  if  it  isn't  Sunday!"  he  said  under  his  breath. 

"He  doesn't  seem  dead-set  on  our  observing  it,"  whispered 
the  Boy. 

The  Colonel  warmed  himself  luxuriously  at  the  stove,  and 
seemed  to  listen  for  that  summons  from  the  entry  that  never 
came.  Was  Father  Richmond  out  there  still,  or  had  he  gone? 

"Do  they  think  we  are  heathens  because  we  are  not  Jesuits?" 

216 


HOLY   CROSS 

he  said  under  his  breath,  suddenly  throwing  out  his  great 
chest. 

"Perhaps  we  ought  to.  ...  Hey?  They've  been  awfully 
considerate  of  us " 

The  Colonel  went  to  the  door.  Father  Richmond  was 
struggling  with  his  snow-boots. 

"With  your  permission,  sir,"  says  the  Colonel  in  his  most 
magnificent  manner,  "we  will  accompany  you,  or  follow  if 
you  are  in  haste." 

"With  all  my  heart.  Come,"  said  the  priest,  "if  you  will 
wait  and  breakfast  with  us  after  Mass." 

It  was  agreed,  and  the  immediate  order  was  countermanded. 
The  sound  of  a  bell  came,  muffled,  through  the  storm. 

With  thoughts  turning  reluctantly  from  breakfast,  "What's 
that?"  asked  the  Boy. 

"That  is  our  church  bell."  The  Father  had  helped  the 
Colonel  to  find  his  parki. 

"Oh— a— of  course " 

"A  fine  tone,  don't  you  think?  But  you  can't  tell  so  well  in 
this  storm.  We  are  fond  of  our  bell.  It  is  the  first  that  ever 
rang  out  in  the  Yukon  valley.  Listen !" 

They  stood  still  a  moment  before  opening  the  front  door. 
The  Boy,  seeing  the  very  look  of  a  certain  high-shouldered 
gray  stone  "St.  Andrew's"  far  away,  and  himself  trotting  along 
beside  that  figure,  inseparable  from  first  memories,  was  dimly 
aware  again,  as  he  stood  at  the  Jesuit's  door,  in  these  different 
days,  of  the  old  Sunday  feeling  invading,  permeating  his  con 
sciousness,  half  reluctant,  half  amused. 

The  Colonel  sat  in  a  rural  church  and  looked  at  the  averted 
face  of  a  woman. 

Only  to  the  priest  was  the  sound  all  music. 

"That  language,"  he  said,  "speaks  to  men  whatever  tongue 
they  call  their  own.  The  natives  hear  it  for  miles  up  the  river, 
and  down  the  river,  and  over  the  white  hills,  and  far  across 
the  tundra.  They  come  many  miles  to  Mass " 

He  opened  the  door,  and  the  gale  rushed  in. 

"I  do  not  mean  on  days  like  this,"  he  wound  up,  smiling, 
and  out  they  went  into  the  whirling  snow. 

The  church  was  a  building  of  logs  like  the  others,  except 
that  it  was  of  one  story.  Father  Brachet  was  already  there, 
with  Father  Wills  and  Brother  Etienne;  and,  after  a  moment, 
in  came  Brother  Paul,  looking  more  waxen  and  aloof  than 

217 


THE   MAGNETIC   NORTH 

ever,  at  the  head  of  the  school,  the  rear  brought  up  by  Brother 
Vincent  and  Henry. 

In  a  moment  the  little  Mother  Superior  appeared,  followed 
by  two  nuns,  heading  a  procession  of  native  women  and  girls. 
They  took  their  places  on  the  other  side  of  the  church  and 
bowed  their  heads. 

"Beautiful  creature!"  ejaculated  the  Colonel  under  his 
breath,  glancing  back. 

His  companion  turned  his  head  sharply  just  in  time  to  see 
Sister  Winifred  come  last  into  the  church,  holding  by  either 
hand  a  little  child.  Both  men  watched  her  as  she  knelt  down. 
Between  the  children's  sallow,  screwed-up,  squinting  little 
visages  the  calm,  unconscious  face  of  the  nun  shone  white  like 
a  flower. 

The  strangers  glanced  discreetly  about  the  rude  little 
church,  with  its  pictures  and  its  modest  attempt  at  stained 
glass. 

"No  wonder  all  this  impresses  the  ignorant  native,"  whis 
pered  the  Colonel,  catching  himself  up  suddenly  from  sharing 
in  that  weakness. 

Without,  the  wild  March  storm  swept  the  white  world ; 
within  another  climate  reigned — something  of  summer  and 
the  far-off  South,  of  Italy  herself,  transplanted  to  this  little 
island  of  civilisation  anchored  in  the  Northern  waste. 

"S'pose  you've  seen  all  the  big  cathedrals,  eh?" 

"Good  many." 

There  was  still  a  subdued  rustling  in  the  church,  and  out 
side,  still  the  clanging  bell  contended  with  the  storm. 

"And  this — makes  you  smile?" 

"N-no,"  returned  the  older  man  with  a  kind  of  reluctance. 
"I've  seen  many  a  worse  church;  America's  full  of  'em." 

"Hey?" 

"So  far  as — dignity  goes "     The  Colonel  was  wrestling 

with  some  vague  impression  difficult  for  him  to  formulate. 
"You  see,  you  can't  build  anything  with  wood  that's  better  than 
a  log-cabin.  For  looks — just  looks — it  beats  all  your  fancy 
gimcracks,  even  brick;  beats  everything  else  hollow,  except 
stone.  Then  they've  got  candles.  We  went  on  last  night 
about  the  luxury  of  oil-lamps.  They  don't  bring  'em  in  here!" 

"We  do  in  our  prairie  and  Southern  country  churches." 

"I  know.  But  look  at  those  altar  lights."  The  Boy  was 
too  busy  looking  at  Sister  Winifred.  "I  tell  you,  sir,  a  man 
never  made  a  finer  thing  than  a  tall  wax  candle." 

218 


HOLY   CROSS 

"Sh!     Mustn't  talk  in  church." 

The  Colonel  stared  a  moment  at  the  Boy's  presumption, 
drew  himself  up  a  little  pompously,  and  crossed  his  arms  over 
his  huge  chest. 

"Why,  they've  got  an  organ!"  The  Boy  forgot  his  strict 
views  on  church  etiquette  as  the  sudden  sweetness  swelled  in 
the  air.  Brother  Paul,  with  head  thrown  back  and  white  face 
lifted,  was  playing,  slowly,  absently,  like  one  who  listens  to 
some  great  choir  invisible,  and  keeps  their  time  with  a  few 
obedient  but  unnecessary  chords.  And  yet 

"The  fella  can  play,"  the  Colonel  admitted. 

The  native  choir,  composed  entirely  of  little  dark-faced  boys, 
sang  their  way  truly  through  the  service,  Father  Brachet  cele 
brating  Mass. 

"Brother  Paul's  ill,  isn't  he?  Look!"  The  lay-brother  had 
swayed,  and  drooped  forward  over  the  keyboard,  but  his  choir 
sang  steadily  on.  He  recovered  himself,  and  beckoned  one  of 
the  boys  to  his  side.  When  he  rose,  the  child  nodded  and  took 
the  organist's  place,  playing  quite  creditably  to  the  end. 
Brother  Paul  sat  in  the  corner  with  bowed  head. 

Coming  out,  they  were  in  time  to  confront  Sister  Winifred, 
holding  back  the  youngest  children,  eager  to  anticipate  their 
proper  places  in  the  procession. 

The  Boy  looked  fixedly  at  her,  wondering.  Suddenly  meet 
ing  the  clear  eyes,  he  smiled,  and  then  shrank  inwardly  at  his 
forwardness.  He  could  not  tell  if  she  remembered  him. 

The  Colonel,  finding  himself  next  her  at  the  door,  bowed, 
and  stood  back  for  her  to  pass. 

"No,"  she  said  gently;  "my  little  children  must  wait  for  the 
older  ones." 

"You  have  them  under  good  discipline,  madam."  He  laid 
his  hand  on  the  furry  shoulder  of  the  smallest. 

The  Boy  stood  behind  the  Colonel,  unaccountably  shy  in 
the  presence  of  the  only  white  woman  he  had  seen  in  nearly 
seven  months.  She  couldn't  be  any  older  than  he,  and  yet  she 
was  a  nun.  What  a  gulf  opened  at  the  word!  Sister  Wini 
fred  and  her  charges  fell  into  rank  at  the  tail  of  the  little 
procession,  and  vanished  in  the  falling  snow. 

At  breakfast  the  Colonel  would  not  sit  down  till  he  was  pre 
sented  to  Brother  Paul. 

"Sir,"  he  said  in  his  florid  but  entirely  sincere  fashion,  "I 
should  like  to  thank  you  for  the  pleasure  of  hearing  that  music 

219 


THE    MAGNETIC   NORTH 

to-day.     We  were  much  impressed,  sir,  by  the  singing.     How 
old  is  the  boy  who  played  the  organ  ?" 

"Ten,"  said  Brother  Paul,  and  for  the  first  time  the  Boy 
saw  him  smile.  "Yes,  I  think  he  has  music  in  him,  our  little 
Jerome." 

"And  how  well  all  your  choir  has  the  service  by  heart! 
Their  unison  is  perfect." 

"Yes,"  said  Father  Brachet  from  the  head  of  the  table,  "our 
music  has  never  been  so  good  as  since  Paul  came  among  us." 
He  lifted  his  hand,  and  every  one  bowed  his  head. 

After  grace  Father  Richmond  took  the  floor,  conversation 
ally,  as  seemed  to  be  his  wont,  and  breakfast  went  on,  as  supper 
had  the  night  before,  to  the  accompaniment  of  his  shrewd  ob 
servations  and  lively  anecdotes.  In  the  midst  of  all  the 
laughter  and  good  cheer  Brother  Paul  sat  at  the  end  of  the 
board,  eating  absently,  saying  nothing,  and  no  one  speaking  to 
him. 

Father  Richmond  especially,  but,  indeed,  all  of  them,  seemed 
arrant  worldlings  beside  the  youngest  of  the  lay-brethren.  The 
Colonel  could  more  easily  imagine  Father  Richmond  walking 
the  streets  of  Paris  or  of  Rome,  than  "hitting  the  Yukon  trail." 
He  marvelled  afresh  at  the  devotion  that  brought  such  a  man 
to  wear  out  his  fine  attainments,  his  scholarship,  his  energy,  his 
wide  and  Catholic  knowledge,  in  travelling  winter  after  winter, 
hundreds  of  miles  over  the  ice  from  one  Indian  village  to 
another.  You  could  not  divorce  Father  Richmond  in  your 
mind  from  the  larger  world  outside;  he  spoke  with  its  accent, 
he  looked  with  his  humourous,  experienced  eyes.  You  found  it 
natural  to  think  of  him  in  very  human  relations.  You  won 
dered  about  his  people,  and  what  brought  him  to  this. 

Not  so  with  Brother  Paul.  He  was  one  of  those  who  sug 
gest  no  country  upon  any  printed  map.  You  have  to  be  re 
minded  that  you  do  not  know  his  birthplace  or  his  history.  It 
was  this  same  Brother  Paul  who,  after  breakfast  and  despite 
the  Pymeut  incident,  offered  to  show  the  gold-seekers  over  the 
school.  The  big  recitation-room  was  full  of  natives  and  de 
cidedly  stuffy.  They  did  not  stay  long.  Upstairs,  "I  sleep  here 
in  the  dormitory,"  said  the  Brother,  "and  I  live  with  the  pupils 
— as  much  as  I  can.  I  often  eat  with  them,"  he  added  as  one 
who  mounts  a  climax.  "They  have  to  be  taught  everything, 
and  they  have  to  be  taught  it  over  again  every  day." 

"Except  music,  apparently." 

220 


HOLY    CROSS 

"Except  music — and  games.  Brother  Vincent  teaches  them 
football  and  baseball,  and  plays  with  them  and  works  with 
them.  Part  of  each  day  is  devoted  to  manual  training  and  to 
sport." 

He  led  the  way  to  the  workshop. 

"One  of  our  brothers  is  a  carpenter  and  master  mechanic." 

He  called  to  a  pupil  passing  the  door,  and  told  him  the 
strangers  would  like  to  inspect  the  school  work.  Very  proudly 
the  lad  obeyed:  He  himself  was  a  carpenter,  and  showed  his 
half -finished  table.  The  Boy's  eye  fell  on  a  sled. 

"Yes,"  said  the  lad,  "that  kind  better.  Your  kind  no  good." 
He  had  evidently  made  intimate  acquaintance  with  the  Boy's 
masterpiece. 

"Yours  is  splendid,"  admitted  the  unskilled  workman. 

"Will  you  sell  it?"  the  Colonel  asked  Brother  Paul. 

"They  make  them  to  sell,"  was  the  answer,  and  the  trans 
action  was  soon  effected. 


"It  has  stopped  snowing  and  ze  wind  is  fallen,"  said  Father 
Brachet,  going  to  the  reception-room  window  an  hour  or  so 
after  they  had  come  in  from  dinner. 

The  Colonel  exchanged  looks  with  the  Boy,  and  drew  out 
his  watch. 

"Later  than  I  thought." 

"Much,"  the  Colonel  agreed,  and  sat  considering,  watch  in 
hand. 

"I  sink  our  friends  must  see  now  ze  girls'  school,  and  ze 
laundry,  hein?" 

"To  be  sure,"  agreed  Father  Richmond.  "I  will  take  you 
over  and  give  you  into  the  hands  of  our  Mother  Superior." 

"Why,  it's  much  warmer,"  said  the  Boy  as  they  went  by  the 
cross;  and  Father  Richmond  greeted  the  half-dozen  native 
boys,  who  were  packing  down  the  fresh  snow  under  their  broad 
shoes,  laughing  and  shouting  to  one  another  as  they  made  anew 
the  familiar  mission  trails. 

The  door  of  the  two-story  house,  on  the  opposite  side  of  the 
settlement,  was  opened  by  Sister  Winifred. 

"Friends  of  ours  from  the  White  Camp  below." 

She  acknowledged  the  nameless  introduction,  smiling;  but 
at  the  request  that  followed,  "Ah,  it  is  too  bad  that  just  to-day 
— the  Mother  Superior — she  is  too  faint  and  weak  to  go  about. 
Will  you  see  her,  Father?" 

221 


THE   MAGNETIC   NORTH 

"Yes,  if  you  will  show  these  strangers  the  school  and  laundry 
and " 

"Oh,  yes,  I  will  show  them." 

She  led  the  way  into  the  cheerful  schoolroom,  where  big  girls 
and  little  girls  were  sitting  about,  amusing  themselves  in  the 
quiet  of  a  long  Sunday  afternoon.  Several  of  the  younger 
children  ran  to  her  as  she  came  in,  and  stood  holding  fast  to 
the  folds  of  her  black  habit,  staring  up  at  the  strangers,  while 
she  explained  the  kind  of  instruction  given,  the  system,  and 
the  order  reigning  in  each  department.  Finally,  she  persuaded 
a  little  girl,  only  six  years  old,  to  take  her  dusky  face  out  of 
the  long  flowing  veil  of  the  nun,  and  show  how  quickly  she 
could  read  a  sentence  that  Sister  Winifred  wrote  on  the  black 
board.  Then  others  were  called  on,  and  gave  examples  of  their 
accomplishments  in  easy  arithmetic  and  spelling.  The  children 
must  have  been  very  much  bored  with  themselves  that  stormy 
Sunday,  for  they  entered  into  the  examination  with  a  quite 
unnatural  zest. 

Two  of  the  elder  girls  recited,  and  some  specimens  of  pen 
manship  and  composition  were  shown.  The  delicate  complex 
ion  of  the  little  nun  flushed  to  a  pretty  wild-rose  pink  as  these 
pupils  of  hers  won  the  Colonel's  old  fashioned  compliments. 

"And  they  are  taught  most  particularly  of  all,"  she  hastened 
to  say,  "cooking,  housekeeping,  and  sewing." 

Whereupon  specimens  of  needlework  were  brought  out  and 
cast  like  pearls  before  the  swine's  eyes  of  the  ignorant  men. 
But  they  were  impressed  in  their  benighted  way,  and  said  so. 

"And  we  teach  them  laundry- work."  She  led  the  way,  with 
the  children  trooping  after,  to  the  washhouse.  "No,  run  back. 
You'll  take  cold.  Run  back,  and  you  shall  sing  for  the  stran 
gers  before  they  go." 

She  smiled  them  away — a  happy-faced,  clean  little  throng, 
striking  contrast  to  the  neglected,  filthy  children  seen  in  the 
native  villages.  As  they  were  going  into  the  laundry,  Father 
Richmond  came  out  of  the  house,  and  stopped  to  point  out  to 
the  Colonel  a  snow-covered  enclosure — "the  Sisters'  garden" — 
and  he  told  how  marvellously,  in  the  brief  summer,  some  of  the 
hardier  vegetables  flourished  there. 

"They  spring  up  like  magic  at  the  edge  of  the  snow-drifts, 
and  they  do  not  rest  from  their  growing  all  night.  If  the  time 
is  short,  they  have  twice  as  much  sunlight  as  with  you.  They 
drink  it  in  the  whole  summer  night  as  well  as  all  the  day.  And 

222 


HOLY   CROSS 

over  here  is  the  Fathers'  garden."     Talking  still,  he  led  the 
way  towards  a  larger  enclosure  on  the  other  side  of  the  Cross. 

Sister  Winifred  paused  a  moment,  and  then,  as  they  did  not 
turn  back,  and  the  Boy  stood  waiting,  she  took  him  into  the 
drying-room  and  into  the  ironing-room,  and  then  returned  to 
the  betubbed  apartment  first  invaded.  There  was  only  one  blot 
on  the  fairness  of  that  model  laundry — a  heap  of  torn  and  dirty 
canvas  in  the  middle  of  the  floor. 

The  Boy  vaguely  thought  it  looked  familiar,  before  the  Sis 
ter,  blushing  faintly,  said :  "We  hope  you  won't  go  before  we 
have  time  to  repair  it." 

"Why,  it's  our  old  sled-cover!" 

"Yes;  it  is  very  much  cut  and  torn.  But  you  do  not  go  at 
once?" 

"Yes,  to-morrow." 

"Oh!  Father  Brachet  thought  you  would  stay  for  a  few 
days,  at  least." 

"We  have  no  time." 

"You  go,  like  the  rest,  for  gold?" 

"Like  the  rest." 

"But  you  came  before  to  help  poor  Nicholas  out  of  his 
trouble." 

"He  was  quite  able  to  help  himself,  as  it  turned  out." 

"Why  will  you  go  so  far,  and  at  such  risk?"  she  said,  with  a 
suddenness  that  startled  them  both. 

"I — I — well,  I  think  I  go  chiefly  because  I  want  to  get  my 
home  back.  I  lost  my  home  when  I  was  a  little  chap.  Where 
is  your  home?" 

"Here." 

"How  long  have  you  been  here?" 

"Nearly  two  years." 

"Then  how  can  you  call  it  home?" 

"I  do  that  only  that  I  may — speak  your  language.  Of  course, 
it  is  not  my  real  home." 

"Where  is  the  real  home?" 

"I  hope  it  is  in  heaven,"  she  said,  with  a  simplicity  that  took 
away  all  taint  of  cant  or  mere  phrase-making. 

"But  where  do  you  come  from?" 

"I  come  from  Montreal." 

"Oh!  and  don't  you  ever  go  back  to  visit  your  people?" 

"No,  I  never  go  back." 

"But  you  will  some  time?" 

223 


THE   MAGNETIC   NORTH 

"No;  I  shall  never  go  back." 

"Don't  you  want  to?" 

She  dropped  her  eyes,  but  very  steadfastly  she  said : 

"My  work  is  here." 

"But  you  are  young,  and  you  may  live  a  great,  great  many 
years." 

She  nodded,  and  looked  out  of  the  open  door.  The  Colonel 
and  the  Travelling  Priest  were  walking  in  Indian  file  the  new- 
made,  hard-packed  path. 

"Yes,"  she  said  in  a  level  voice,  "I  shall  grow  old  here,  and 
here  I  shall  be  buried." 

"I  shall  never  understand  it.  I  have  such  a  longing  for  my 
home.  I  came  here  ready  to  bear  anything  that  I  might  be 
able  to  get  it  back." 

She  looked  at  him  steadily  and  gravely. 

"I  may  be  wrong,  but  I  doubt  if  you  would  be  satisfied  even 
if  you  got  it  back — now." 

"What  makes  you  think  that?"  he  said  sharply. 

"Because" — and  she  checked  herself  as  if  on  the  verge  of 
something  too  personal — "you  can  never  get  back  a  thing  you've 
lost.  When  the  old  thing  is  there  again,  you  are  not  as  you 
were  when  you  lost  it,  and  the  change  in  you  makes  the  old 
thing  new — and  strange." 

"Oh,  it's  plain  I  am  very  different  from  you,"  but  he  said 
it  with  a  kind  of  uneasy  defiance.  "Besides,  in  any  case,  I  shall 
do  it  for  my  sister's  sake." 

"Oh,  you  have  a  sister?" 

He  nodded. 

"How  long  since  you  left  her?" 

"It's  a  good  while  now." 

"Perhaps  your  sister  won't  want  that  particular  home  any 
more  than  you  when  you  two  meet  again."  Then,  seeming 
not  to  notice  the  shade  on  her  companion's  face:  "I  promised 
my  children  they  should  sing  for  you.  Do  you  mind?  Will 
your  friend  come  in,  too?"  And,  looking  from  the  door  after 
the  Colonel  and  the  Father  as  they  turned  to  rejoin  them: 
"He  is  odd,  that  big  friend  of  yours,"  she  said — quite  like  a 
human  being,  as  the  Boy  thought  instantly. 

"He's  not  odd,  I  assure  you." 

"He  called  me  'madam.'  "  She  spoke  with  a  charming 
piqued  childishness. 

"You  see,  he  didn't  know  your  name.  What  is  your  name?" 

224 


HOLY   CROSS 

"Sister  Winifred." 

"But  your  real  name?"  he  said,  with  the  American's  in 
sistence  on  his  own  point  of  view. 

"That  is  my  only  name,"  she  answered  with  dignity,  and  led 
the  way  back  into  the  schoolroom.  Another,  older,  nun  was 
there,  and  when  the  others  rejoined  them  they  made  the  girls 
sing. 

"Now  we  have  shown  you  enough,"  said  Father  Richmond, 
rising;  "boasted  to  you  enough  of  the  very  little  we  are  able 
to  accomplish  here.  We  must  save  something  for  to-morrow." 

"Ah,  to-morrow  we  take  to  the  trail  again,"  said  the  Colonel, 
and  added  his  "Good-bye,  madam." 

Sister  Winifred,  seeing  he  expected  it,  gave  him  her  hand. 

"Good-bye,  and  thank  you  for  coming." 

"For  your  poor,"  he  said  shyly,  as  he  turned  away  and  left 
a  gift  in  her  palm. 

"Thank  you  for  showing  us  all  this,"  the  Boy  said,  linger 
ing,  but  not  daring  to  shake  hands.  "It — it  seems  very  won 
derful.  I  had  no  idea  a  mission  meant  all  this." 

"Oh,  it  means  more — more  than  anything  you  can  see!' 

"Good-bye." 

"Good-bye." 

In  the  early  evening  the  reception-room  was  invaded  by  the 
lads'  school  for  their  usual  Sunday  night  entertainment.  Very 
proudly  these  boys  and  young  men  sang  their  glees  and 
choruses,  played  the  fiddle,  recited,  even  danced. 

"Pity  Mac  isn't  here!" 

"Awful  pity.     Sunday,  too." 

Brother  Etienne  sang  some  French  military  songs,  and  it 
came  out  that  he  had  served  in  the  French  army.  Father 
Roget  sang,  also  in  French,  explaining  himself  with  a  humour 
ous  skill  in  pantomime  that  set  the  room  in  a  roar. 

"Well,"  said  the  Colonel  when  he  stood  up  to  say  good 
night,  "I  haven't  enjoyed  an  evening  so  much  for  years." 

"It  is  very  early  still,"  said  Father  Brachet,  wrinkling  up 
his  face  in  a  smile. 

"Ah,  but  we  have  to  make  such  an  early  start." 

The  Colonel  went  up  to  bed,  leaving  the  Boy  to  go  to 
Father  Richmond's  room  to  look  at  his  Grammar  of  the  In 
dian  language. 

The  instant  the  door  was  shut,  the  priest  set  down  the  lamp, 
and  laid  his  hands  on  the  young  man's  shoulders. 

225 


THE   MAGNETIC  NORTH 

"My  son,  you  must  not  go  on  this  mad  journey." 

"I  must,  you  know." 

"You  must  not.  Sit  there."  He  pushed  him  into  a  chair. 
"Let  me  tell  you.  I  do  not  speak  as  the  ignorant.  I  have  in 
my  day  travelled  many  hundreds  of  miles  on  the  ice;  but  I've 
done  it  in  the  season  when  the  trail's  at  its  best,  with  dogs,  my 
son,  and  with  tried  native  servants." 

"I  know  it  is  pleasanter  that  way,  but " 

"Pleasanter?     It  is  the  way  to  keep  alive." 

"But  the  Indians  travel  with  hand-sleds." 

"For  short  distances,  yes,  and  they  are  inured  to  the  climate. 
You?  You  know  nothing  of  what  lies  before  you." 

"But  we'll  find  out  as  other  people  have."  The  Boy  smiled 
confidently. 

"I  assure  you,  my  son,  it  is  madness,  this  thing  you  are  try 
ing  to  do.  The  chances  of  either  of  you  coming  out  alive,  are 
one  in  fifty.  In  fifty,  did  I  say?  In  five  hundred." 

"I  don't  think  so,  Father.  We  don't  mean  to  travel 
when " 

"But  you'll  have  to  travel.  To  stay  in  such  places  as  you'll 
find  yourself  in  will  be  to  starve.  Or  if  by  any  miracle  you 
escape  the  worst  effects  of  cold  and  hunger,  you'll  get  caught 
in  the  ice  in  the  spring  break-up,  and  go  down  to  destruction 
on  a  floe.  You've  no  conception  what  it's  like.  If  you  were 
six  weeks  earlier,  or  six  weeks  later,  I  would  hold  my  peace." 

The  Boy  looked  at  the  priest  and  then  away.  Was  it  going 
to  be  so  bad?  Would  they  leave  their  bones  on  the  ice?  Would 
they  go  washing  by  the  mission  in  the  great  spring  flood,  that 
all  men  spoke  of  with  the  same  grave  look?  He  had  a  sudden 
vision  of  the  torrent  as  it  would  be  in  June.  Among  the  whirl 
ing  ice-masses  that  swept  by — two  bodies,  swollen,  unrecog 
nisable.  One  gigantic,  one  dressed  gaily  in  chaparejos.  And 
neither  would  lift  his  head,  but,  like  men  bent  grimly  upon 
some  great  errand,  they  would  hurry  on,  past  the  tall  white 
cross  with  never  a  sign — on,  on  to  the  sea. 

"Be  persuaded,  my  son." 

Dimly  the  Boy  knew  he  was  even  now  borne  along  upon  a 
current  equally  irresistible,  this  one  setting  northward,  as  that 
other  back  to  the  south.  He  found  himself  shaking  his  head 
under  the  Jesuit's  remonstrant  eyes. 

"We've  lost  so  much  time  already.  We  couldn't  possibly 
turn  back — now." 

226 


HOLY   CROSS 

"Then  here's  my  Grammar."  With  an  almost  comic  change 
of  tone  and  manner  the  priest  turned  to  the  table  where  the 
lamp  stood,  among  piles  of  neatly  tied-up  and  docketed  papers. 

He  undid  one  of  the  packets,  with  an  ear  on  the  sudden 
sounds  outside  in  the  passage. 

"Brother  Paul's  got  it  in  the  schoolhouse." 

Brother  Paul!  He  hadn't  been  at  the  entertainment,  and 
no  one  seemed  to  have  missed  him. 

"How  did  Sister  Winifred  know?"  asked  another  voice. 

"Old  Maria  told  her." 

Father  Richmond  got  up  and  opened  the  door. 

"What  is  it?" 

"It's  a  new-born  Indian  baby."  The  Father  looked  down 
as  if  it  might  be  on  the  threshold.  "Brother  Paul  found  it  be 
low  at  the  village  all  done  up  ready  to  be  abandoned." 

"Tell  Sister  Winifred  I'll  see  about  it  in  the  morning." 

"She  says — pardon  me,  Father — she  says  that  is  like  a  man. 
If  I  do  not  bring  the  little  Indian  in  twenty  minutes  she  will 
come  herself  and  get  it." 

Father  Richmond  laughed. 

"Good-night,  my  son;"  and  he  went  downstairs  with  the 
others. 


"Colonel,  you  asleep?"  the  Boy  asked  softly. 

"No." 

He  struggled  in  silence  with  his  mucklucks.  Presently, 
"Isn't  it  frightfully  strange,"  he  mused  aloud.  "Doesn't  it  pull 
a  fella  up  by  the  roots,  somehow,  to  see  Americans  on  this  old 
track?" 

The  Colonel  had  the  bedclothes  drawn  up  to  his  eyes.  Under 
the  white  quilt  he  made  some  undistinguishable  sound,  but  he 
kept  his  eyes  fastened  on  his  pardner. 

"Everything  that  we  Americans  have  done,  everything  that 
we  are,  is  achieved  by  the  grace  of  goin'  bang  the  other  way." 
The  Boy  pulled  off  a  muckluck  and  threw  it  half  across  the 
room.  "And  yet,  and  yet " 

He  sat  with  one  stocking-foot  in  his  hand  and  stared  at  the 
candle. 

"I  wonder,  Colonel,  if  it  satisfies  anybody  to  be  a  hustler  and 
a  millionaire." 

"Satisfies?"  echoed  the  Colonel,  pushing  his  chin  over  the 
bed-clothes.  "Who  expects  to  be  satisfied?" 

227 


THE    MAGNETIC   NORTH 

"Why,  every  man,  woman  and  child  on  the  top  o'  the  earth; 
and  it  just  strikes  me  I've  never,  personally,  known  anybody 
get  there  but  these  fellas  at  Holy  Cross." 

The  Colonel  pushed  back  the  bedclothes  a  little  farther  with 
his  chin. 

"Haven't  you  got  the  gumption  to  see  why  it  is  this  place 
and  these  men  take  such  a  hold  on  you?  It's  because  you've 
eaten,  slept,  and  lived  for  half  a  year  in  a  space  the  size  of  this 
bedroom.  We've  got  so  used  to  narrowing  life  down,  that  the 
first  result  of  a  little  larger  outlook  is  to  make  us  dizzy.  Now, 
you  hurry  up  and  get  to  bed.  You'll  sleep  it  off." 


The  Boy  woke  at  four  o'clock,  and  after  the  match-light,  by 
which  he  consulted  his  watch,  had  flickered  out,  he  lay  a  long 
time  staring  at  the  dark. 

Silence  still  reigned  supreme,  when  at  last  he  got  up,  washed 
and  dressed,  and  went  downstairs.  An  irresistible  restlessness 
had  seized  hold  of  him. 

He  pulled  on  his  furs,  cautiously  opened  the  door,  and  went 
out — down,  over  the  crisp  new  crust,  to  the  river  and  back  in 
the  dimness,  past  the  Fathers'  House  to  the  settlement  behind, 
then  to  the  right  towards  the  hillside.  As  he  stumbled  up  the 
slope  he  came  to  a  little  burial-ground.  Half  hidden  in  the 
snow,  white  wooden  crosses  marked  the  graves.  "And  here  I 
shall  be  buried,"  she  had  said — "here."  He  came  down  the 
hill  and  round  by  the  Sisters'  House. 

That  window !  That  was  where  a  light  had  shone  the  even 
ing  they  arrived,  and  a  nun — Sister  Winifred — had  stood  draw 
ing  the  thick  curtains,  shutting  out  the  world. 

He  thought,  in  the  intense  stillness,  that  he  heard  sounds 
from  that  upper  room.  Yes,  surely  an  infant's  cry. 

A  curious,  heavy-hearted  feeling  came  upon  him,  as  he  turned 
away,  and  went  slowly  back  towards  the  other  house. 

He  halted  a  moment  under  the  Cross,  and  stared  up  at  it. 
The  door  of  the  Fathers'  House  opened,  and  the  Travelling 
Priest  stood  on  the  threshold.  The  Boy  went  over  to  him, 
nodding  good-morning. 

"So  you  are  all  ready — eager  to  go  from  us?" 

"No;  but,  you  see " 

"I  see." 

He  held  the  door  open,  and  the  Boy  went  in. 

228 


HOLY   CROSS 

"I  don't  believe  the  Colonel's  awake  yet,"  he  said,  as  he  took 
off  his  furs.  "I'll  just  run  up  and  rouse  him." 

"It  is  very  early" — the  priest  laid  his  hand  on  the  young 
man's  arm — "and  he  will  not  sleep  so  well  for  many  a  night  to 
come.  It  is  an  hour  till  breakfast." 

Henry  had  lit  the  fire,  and  now  left  it  roaring.  The  priest 
took  a  chair,  and  pushed  one  forward  for  his  guest. 

The  Boy  sat  down,  stretched  his  legs  out  straight  towards 
the  fire,  and  lifting  his  hands,  clasped  them  behind  his  head. 
The  priest  read  the  homesick  face  like  a  book. 

"Why  are  you  up  here?"  Before  there  was  time  for  reply 
he  added:  "Surely  a  young  man  like  you  could  find,  nearer 
home,  many  a  gate  ajar.  And  you  must  have  had  glimpses 
through  of — things  many  and  fair." 

"Oh,  yes,  I've  had  glimpses  of  those  things." 

"Well " 

"What  I  wanted  most  I  /ever  saw." 

"You  wanted " 

-To  be— sure." 

"Ah!  it  is  one  of  the  results  of  agnosticism." 

The  Boy  never  saw  the  smile. 

"I've  said — and  I  was  not  lying — that  I  came  away  to  shorten 
the  business  of  fortune-making — to  buy  back  an  old  place  we 
love,  my  sister  and  I ;  but " 

"Which  does  she  love  best,  the  old  place  or  the  young 
brother?" 

"Oh,  she  cares  about  me — no  doubt  o'  that."  He  smiled 
the  smile  of  faith. 

"Has  she     ...     an  understanding  heart?" 

"The  most  I  know." 

"Then  she  would  be  glad  to  know  you  had  found  a  home 
for  the  spirit.  A  home  for  the  body,  what  does  it  matter?" 

In  the  pause,  Father  Brachet  opened  the  door,  but  seemed 
suddenly  to  remember  some  imperative  call  elsewhere.  The 
Boy  jumped  up,  but  the  Superior  had  vanished  without  even 
"Good-morning."  The  Boy  sat  down  again. 

"Of  course,"  he  went  on,  with  that  touch  of  pedantry  so 
common  in  American  youth,  "the  difficulty  in  my  case  is  an 
intellectual  one.  I  think  I  appreciate  the  splendid  work  you 
do,  and  I  see  as  I  never  saw  before "  He  stopped. 

"You  strike  your  foot  against  the  same  stone  of  stumbling 
over  which  the  Pharisees  fell,  when  the  man  whom  Jesus  healed 

229 


THE   MAGNETIC   NORTH 

by  the  way  replied  to  their  questioning:  'Whether  He  be  a 
sinner  or  no,  I  know  not.  One  thing  I  know,  that  whereas  I 
was  blind,  now  I  see.'  " 

"I  don't  deny  that  the  life  here  has  been  a  revelation  to  me. 
I'm  not  talkin'  about  creeds  (for  I  don't  know  much  about 
them,  and  I  don't  think  it's  in  me  to  care  much)  ;  but  so  far 
as  the  work  here  is  concerned "  He  paused. 

"We  can  take  little  credit  for  that;  it  is  the  outcome  of  our 
Order." 

The  Boy  failed  to  catch  the  effect  of  the  capital  letter. 

"Yes,  it's  just  that — the  order,  the  good  government!  A 
fella  would  be  a  bigot  if  he  couldn't  see  that  the  system  is  as 
nearly  perfect  as  a  human  institution  can  be." 

"That  has  been  said  before  of  the  Society  of  Jesus."  But  he 
spoke  with  the  wise  man's  tolerance  for  the  discoveries  of  the 
young.  Still,  it  was  not  to  discuss  the  merits  of  his  Order  that 
he  had  got  up  an  hour  before  his  time.  "I  understand,  maybe 
better  than  yourself,  something  of  the  restlessness  that  drove 
you  here." 

"You  understand?" 

The  priest  nodded. 

"You  had  the  excuse  of  the  old  plantation  and  the  sis 
ter " 

The  Boy  sat  up  suddenly,  a  little  annoyed. 

The  priest  kept  on :  "But  you  felt  a  great  longing  to  make  a 
breach  in  the  high  walls  that  shut  you  in.  You  wanted  to  fare 
away  on  some  voyage  of  discovery.  Wasn't  that  it?"  He 
paused  now  in  his  turn,  but  the  Boy  looked  straight  before 
him,  saying  nothing.  The  priest  leaned  forward  with  a  deeper 
gravity. 

"It  will  be  a  fortunate  expedition,  this,  my  son,  if  thou  dis 
cover  thyself — and  in  time!"  Still  the  Boy  said  nothing.  The 
other  resumed  more  lightly:  "In  America  we  combine  our 
travels  with  business.  But  it  is  no  new  idea  in  the  world  that 
a  young  man  should  have  his  Wanderjahr  before  he  finds  what 
he  wants,  or  even  finds  acquiescence.  It  did  not  need  Wilhelm 
Meister  to  set  the  feet  of  youth  on  that  trail;  it  did  not  need 
the  Crusades.  It's  as  old  as  the  idea  of  a  Golden  Fleece  or  a 
Promised  Land.  It  was  the  first  man's  first  inkling  of  heaven." 

The  Boy  pricked  his  ears.    Wasn't  this  heresy? 

"The  old  idea  of  the  strenuous,  to  leave  home  and  comfort 
and  security,  and  go  out  to  search  for  wisdom,  or  holiness,  or 

230 


HOLY   CROSS 

happiness — whether  it  is  gold  or  the  San  Grael,  the  instinct  of 
Search  is  deep  planted  in  the  race.  It  is  this  that  the  handful 
of  men  who  live  in  what  they  call  'the  world' — it  is  this  they 
forget.  Every  hour  in  the  greater  world  outside,  someone, 
somewhere,  is  starting  out  upon  this  journey.  He  may  go  only 
as  far  as  Germany  to  study  philosophy,  or  to  the  nearest  moun 
tain-top,  and  find  there  the  thing  he  seeks;  or  he  may  go  to  the 
ends  of  the  earth,  and  still  not  find  it.  He  may  travel  in  a 
Hindu  gown  or  a  Mongolian  tunic,  or  he  comes,  like  Father 
Brachet,  out  of  his  vineyards  in  'the  pleasant  land  of  France/ 
or,  like  you,  out  of  a  country  where  all  problems  are  to  be 
solved  by  machinery.  But  my  point  is,  they  come!  When  all 
the  other  armies  of  the  world  are  disbanded,  that  army,  my 
son,  will  be  still  upon  the  march." 

They  were  silent  awhile,  and  still  the  young  face  gave  no 
sign. 

"To  many,"  the  Travelling  Priest  went  on,  "the  impulse  is 
a  blind  one  or  a  shy  one,  shrinking  from  calling  itself  by  the 
old  names.  But  none  the  less  this  instinct  for  the  Quest  is  still 
the  gallant  way  of  youth,  confronted  by  a  sense  of  the  home- 
lessness  they  cannot  think  will  last." 

"That's  it,  Father!  That's  it!"  the  Boy  burst  out.  "Home- 

lessness!  To  feel  that  is  to  feel  something  urging  you " 

He  stopped,  frowning. 

" urging  you  to  take  up  your  staff,"  said  the  priest. 

They  were  silent  a  moment,  and  then  the  same  musical  voice 
tolled  out  the  words  like  a  low  bell:  "But  with  all  your  jour 
neying,  my  son,  you  will  come  to  no  Continuing  City." 

"It's  no  use  to  say  this  to  me.    You  see,  I  am " 

"I'll  tell  you  why  I  say  it."  The  priest  laid  a  hand  on  his 
arm.  "I  see  men  going  up  and  down  all  their  lives  upon  this 
Quest.  Once  in  a  great  while  I  see  one  for  whom  I  think  the 
journey  may  be  shortened." 

"How  shortened?" 

A  heavy  step  on  the  stair,  and  the  Boy  seemed  to  wake  from 
a  dream. 

"Good-morning,"  said  the  Colonel,  coming  in  cheerily,  rub 
bing  his  hands. 

"I  am  very  jealous!"  He  glanced  at  the  Boy's  furs  on  the 
floor.  "You  have  been  out,  seeing  the  rest  of  the  mission 
without  me." 

"No — no,  we  will  show  you  the  rest — as  much  as  you  care 
for,  after  breakfast." 

231 


THE   MAGNETIC   NORTH 

"I'm  afraid  we  oughtn't  to  delay " 

But  they  did — "for  a  few  minutes  while  zey  are  putting  a 
little  fresh  meat  on  your  sled,"  as  Father  Brachet  said.  They 
went  first  to  see  the  dogs  fed.  For  they  got  breakfast  when 
they  were  at  home,  those  pampered  mission  dogs. 

"And  now  we  will  show  you  our  store-house,  our  caches " 

While  Father  Brachet  looked  in  the  bunch  for  the  key  he 
wanted,  a  native  came  by  with  a  pail.  He  entered  the  low 
building  on  the  left,  leaving  wide  the  door. 

"What?  No!  Is  it  really?  No,  not  really!"  The  Colonel 
was  more  excited  than  the  Boy  had  ever  seen  him.  Without 
the  smallest  ceremony  he  left  the  side  of  his  obliging  host, 
strode  to  the  open  door,  and  disappeared  inside. 

"What  on  earth's  the  matter?" 

"I  cannot  tell.     It  is  but  our  cow-house." 

They  followed,  and,  looking  in  at  the  door,  the  Boy  saw  a 
picture  that  for  many  a  day  painted  itself  on  his  memory.  For 
inside  the  dim,  straw-strewn  place  stood  the  big  Kentuckian, 
with  one  arm  round  the  cow,  talking  to  her  and  rubbing  her 
nose,  while  down  his  own  a  tear  trickled. 

"Hey?  Well,  yes!  Just  my  view,  Sukey.  Yes,  old  girl, 
Alaska's  a  funny  kind  o'  place  for  you  and  me  to  be  in,  isn't 
it?  Hey?  Ye-e-yes."  And  he  stroked  the  cow  and  sniffed 
back  the  salt  water,  and  called  out,  seeing  the  Boy,  "Look! 
They've  got  a  thoroughbred  bull,  too,  an'  a  heifer.  Lord,  I 
haven't  been  in  any  place  so  like  home  for  a  coon's  age!  You 
go  and  look  at  the  caches.  I'll  stay  here  while  Sambo  milks 
her." 

"My  name  is  Sebastian." 

"Oh,  all  right;  reckon  you  can  milk  her  under  that  name, 
too." 

When  they  came  back,  the  Colonel  was  still  there  exchang 
ing  views  about  Alaska  with  Sukey,  and  with  Sebastian  about 
the  bull.  Sister  Winifred  came  hurrying  over  the  snow  to  the 
cow-house  with  a  little  tin  pail  in  her  hand. 

"Ah,  but  you  are  slow,  Sebastian!"  she  called  out  almost 
petulantly.  "Good-morning,"  she  said  to  the  others,  and  with 
a  quick  clutch  at  a  respectful  and  submissive  demeanour,  she 
added,  half  aside:  "What  do  you  think,  Father  Brachet?  They 
forgot  that  baby  because  he  is  good  and  sleeps  late.  They  drink 
up  all  the  milk." 

"Ah,  there  is  very  little  now." 

232 


HOLY   CROSS 

"Very  little,  Father,"  said  Sebastian,  returning  to  the  task 
from  which  the  Colonel's  conversation  had  diverted  him. 

"I  put  aside  some  last  night,  and  they  used  it.  I  send  you 
to  bring  me  only  a  little  drop" — she  was  by  Sebastian  now, 
holding  out  the  small  pail,  unmindful  of  the  others,  who  were 
talking  stock — "and  you  stay,  and  stay " 

"Give  me  your  can."  The  Boy  took  it  from  her,  and  held  it 
inside  the  big  milk-pail,  so  that  the  thin  stream  struck  it  sharply. 

"There;  it  is  enough." 

Her  shawl  had  fallen.    The  Colonel  gathered  it  up. 

"I  will  carry  the  milk  back  for  you,"  said  the  Boy,  noticing 
how  red  and  cold  the  slim  hands  were.  "Your  fingers  will  be 
frostbitten  if  you  don't  wrap  them  up."  She  pulled  the  old 
shawl  closely  round  her,  and  set  a  brisk  pace  back  to  the  Sis 
ters'  House. 

"I  must  go  carefully  or  I  might  slip,  and  if  I  spilt  the 
milk " 

"Oh,  you  mustn't  do  that!" 

She  paused  suddenly,  and  then  went  on,  but  more  slowly 
than  before.  A  glaze  had  formed  on  the  hard-trodden  path, 
and  one  must  needs  walk  warily.  Once  she  looked  back  with 
anxiety,  and,  seeing  that  the  precious  milk  was  being  carried 
with  due  caution,  her  glance  went  gratefully  to  the  Boy's  face. 
He  felt  her  eyes. 

"I'm  being  careful,"  he  laughed,  a  little  embarrassed  and  not 
at  first  lifting  his  bent  head.  When,  after  an  instant,  he  did 
so,  he  found  the  beautiful  calm  eyes  full  upon  him.  But  no 
self-consciousness  there.  She  turned  away,  gentle  and  reflec 
tive,  and  was  walking  on  when  some  quick  summons  seemed  to 
reach  her.  She  stopped  quite  still  again,  as  if  seized  suddenly 
by  a  detaining  hand.  Her  own  hands  dropped  straight  at  her 
sides,  and  the  rusty  shawl  hung  free.  A  second  time  she  turned, 
the  Boy  thought  to  him  again;  but  as  he  glanced  up,  wonder 
ing,  he  saw  that  the  fixed  yet  serene  look  went  past  him  like  a 
homing-dove.  A  neglected,  slighted  feeling  came  over  him. 
She  wasn't  thinking  of  him  the  least  in  the  world,  nor  even  of 
the  milk  he  was  at  such  pains  to  carry  for  her.  What  was  she 
staring  at  ?  He  turned  his  head  over  his  right  shoulder.  Noth 
ing.  No  one.  As  he  came  slowly  on,  he  kept  glancing  at  her. 
She,  still  with  upturned  face,  stood  there  in  the  attitude  of 
an  obedient  child  receiving  admonition.  One  cold  little  hand 
fluttered  up  to  her  silver  cross.  Ah !  He  turned  again,  under- 

233 


THE   MAGNETIC   NORTH 

standing  now  the  drift,  if  not  the  inner  meaning,  of  that  sum 
mons  that  had  come. 

"Your  friend  said  something "  She  nodded  faintly, 

riverwards,  towards  the  mission  sign.  "Did  you  feel  like  that 
about  it — when  you  saw  it  first?" 

"Oh — a — I'm  not  religious  like  the  Colonel." 

She  smiled,  and  walked  on. 

At  the  door,  as  she  took  the  milk,  instead  of  "Thank  you," 
"Wait  a  moment." 

She  was  back  again  directly. 

"You  are  going  far  beyond  the  mission  ...  so  carry  this 
with  you.  I  hope  it  will  guide  you  as  it  guides  us." 

On  his  way  back  to  the  Fathers'  House,  he  kept  looking  at 
what  Sister  Winifred  had  given  him — a  Latin  cross  of  silver 
scarce  three  inches  long.  At  the  intersection  of  the  arms  it 
bore  a  chased  lozenge  on  which  was  a  mitre;  above  it,  the 
word  "Alaska,"  and  beneath,  the  crossed  keys  of  St.  Peter  and 
the  letters,  "P.  T.  R." 

As  he  came  near  to  where  the  Colonel  and  his  hosts  were, 
he  slipped  the  cross  into  his  pocket.  His  fingers  encountered 
Muckluck's  medal.  Upon  some  wholly  involuntary  impulse, 
he  withdrew  Sister  Winifred's  gift,  and  transferred  it  to  an 
other  pocket.  But  he  laughed  to  himself.  "Both  sort  o'  charms, 
after  all."  And  again  he  looked  at  the  big  cross  and  the  heaven 
above  it,  and  down  at  the  domain  of  the  Inua,  the  jealous  god 
of  the  Yukon. 

Twenty  minutes  later  the  two  travellers  were  saying  good 
bye  to  the  men  of  Holy  Cross,  and  making  their  surprised  and 
delighted  acknowledgments  for  the  brand-new  canvas  cover  they 
found  upon  the  Colonel's  new  sled. 

"Oh,  it  is  not  we,"  said  Father  Brachet;  "it  is  made  by5  ze 
Sisters.  Zey  shall  know  zat  you  were  pleased." 

Father  Richmond  held  the  Boy's  hand  a  moment. 

"I  see  you  go,  my  son,  but  I  shall  see  you  return." 

"No,  Father,  I  shall  hardly  come  this  way  again." 

Father  Brachet,  smiling,  watched  them  start  up  the  long  trail. 

"I  sink  we  shall  meet  again,"  were  his  last  words. 

"What  does  he  mean?"  asked  the  Colonel,  a  little  high  and 
mightily.  "What  plan  has  he  got  for  a  meeting?" 

"Same  plan  as  you've  got,  I  s'pose.  I  believe  you  both  call 
it  'Heaven.'  " 

The  Holy  Cross  thermometer  had  registered  twenty  degrees 

234 


HOLY   CROSS 

below  zero,  but  the  keen  wind  blowing  down  the  river  made  it 
seem  more  like  forty  below.  When  they  stopped  to  lunch,  they 
had  to  crouch  down  behind  the  sled  to  stand  the  cold,  and  the 
Boy  found  that  his  face  and  ears  were  badly  frost-bitten.  The 
Colonel  discovered  that  the  same  thing  had  befallen  the  toes  of 
his  left  foot.  They  rubbed  the  afflicted  members,  and  tried  not 
to  let  their  thoughts  stray  backwards.  The  Jesuits  had  told 
them  of  an  inhabited  cabin  twenty-three  miles  up  the  river,  and 
they  tried  to  fix  their  minds  on  that.  In  a  desultory  way,  when 
the  wind  allowed  it,  they  spoke  of  Minook,  and  of  odds  and 
ends  they'd  heard  about  the  trail.  They  spoke  of  the  Big  Chim 
ney  Cabin,  and  of  how  at  Anvik  they  would  have  their  last 
shave.  The  one  subject  neither  seemed  anxious  to  mention  was 
Holy  Cross.  It  was  a  little  "marked,"  the  Colonel  felt;  but 
he  wasn't  going  to  say  the  first  word,  since  he  meant  to  say 
the  last. 

About  five  o'clock  the  gale  went  down,  but  it  came  on  to 
snow.  At  seven  the  Colonel  said  decidedly:  "We  can't  make 
that  cabin  to-night." 

"Why  not?" 

"Because   I'm  not  going  any  further,  with  this  foot " 

He  threw  down  the  sled-rope,  and  limped  after  wood  for  the 
fire. 

The  Boy  tilted  the  sled  up  by  an  ice-hummock,  and  spread 
the  new  canvas  so  that  it  gave  some  scant  shelter  from  the  snow. 
Luckily,  for  once,  the  wind  how  grown  quite  lamb-like — for 
the  Yukon.  It  would  be  thought  a  good  stiff  breeze  almost 
anywhere  else. 

Directly  they  had  swallowed  supper  the  Colonel  remarked: 
"I  feel  as  ready  for  my  bed  as  I  did  Saturday  night." 

Ah!  Saturday  night — that  was  different.  They  looked  at 
each  other  with  the  same  thought. 

"Well,  that  bed  at  Holy  Cross  isn't  any  whiter  than  this," 
laughed  the  Boy. 

But  the  Colonel  was  not  to  be  deceived  by  this  light  and  airy 
reference.  His  own  unwilling  sentiments  were  a  guide  to  the 
Boy's,  and  he  felt  it  incumbent  upon  him  to  restore  the  Holy 
Cross  incident  to  its  proper  proportions.  Those  last  words  of 
Father  Brachet's  bothered  him.  Had  they  been  "gettin'  at" 
the  Boy? 

"You  think  all  that  mission  business  mighty  wonderful — just 
because  you  run  across  it  in  Alaska." 

235 


THE   MAGNETIC   NORTH 

"And  isn't  it  wonderful  at  all?" 

The  Boy  spoke  dreamily,  and,  from  force  of  old  habit,  held 
out  his  mittened  hands  to  the  unavailing  fire. 

The  Colonel  gave  a  prefatory  grunt  of  depreciation,  but  he 
was  pulling  his  blankets  out  from  under  the  stuff  on  the  sled. 

The  Boy  turned  his  head,  and  watched  him  with  a  little 
smile.  "I'll  admit  that  I  always  used  to  think  the  Jesuits  were 
a  shady  lot " 

"So  they  are — most  of  'em." 

"Well,  I  don't  know  about  'most  of  'em.'  You  and  Mac 
used  to  talk  a  lot  about  the  'motives'  of  the  few  I  do  know. 
But  as  far  as  I  can  see,  every  creature  who  comes  up  to  this 
country  comes  to  take  something  out  of  it — except  those  Holy 
Cross  fellas.  They  came  to  bring  something." 

The  Colonel  had  got  the  blankets  out  now,  but  where  was 
the  rubber  sheet?  He  wouldn't  sleep  on  it  in  this  weather, 
again,  for  a  kingdom,  but  when  the  thaws  came,  if  those  ex 
plorer  fellas  were  right 

In  his  sense  of  irritation  at  a  conscientious  duty  to  perform 
and  no  clear  notion  of  how  to  discharge  it,  he  made  believe  it 
was  the  difficulty  in  rinding  the  rubber  sheet  he  didn't  want 
that  made  him  out  of  sorts. 

"It's  bitter  work,  anyhow,  this  making  beds  with  your  fin 
gers  stiff  and  raw,"  he  said. 

"Is  it?" 

Dignity  looked  at  Impudence  sitting  in  the  shelter,  smiling. 

"Humph!     Just  try  it,"  growled  the  Colonel. 

"I  s'pose  the  man  over  the  fire  cookin'  supper  does  look  bet 
ter  off  than  the  'pore  pardner'  cuttin'  down  trees  and  makin' 
beds  in  the  snow.  But  he  isn't." 

"Oh,  isn't  he?"  It  was  all  right,  but  the  Big  Chimney  boss 
felt  he  had  chosen  the  lion's  share  of  the  work  in  electing  to 
be  woodman ;  still,  it  wasn't  that  that  troubled  him.  Now, 
what  was  it  he  had  been  going  to  say  about  the  Jesuits?  Some 
thing  very  telling. 

"If  you  mean  that  you'd  rather  go  back  to  the  cookin',"  the 
Boy  was  saying,  "I'm  agreeable." 

"Well,  you  start  in  to-morrow,  and  see  if  you're  so  agree 
able." 

"All  right.  I  think  I  dote  on  one  job  just  about  as  much 
as  I  do  on  t'other." 

But  still  the  Colonel  frowned.     He  couldn't  remember  that 

236 


HOLY   CROSS 

excellent  thing  he  had  been  going  to  say  about  Romanists.  But 
he  sniffed  derisively,  and  flung  over  his  shoulder: 

"To  hear  you  goin'  on,  anybody'd  think  the  Jesuits  were  the 
only  Christians.  As  if  there  weren't  others,  who  -  " 

"Oh,  yes,  Christians  with  gold  shovels  and  Winchester  rifles. 
I  know  'em.  But  if  gold  hadn't  been  found,  how  many  of  the 
army  that's  invaded  the  North  —  how  many  would  be  here,  if 
it  hadn't  been  for  the  gold?  But  all  this  Holy  Cross  business 
would  be  goin'  on  just  the  same,  as  it  has  done  for  years  and 
years." 

With  a  mighty  tug  the  Colonel  dragged  out  the  rubber 
blanket,  flung  it  down  on  the  snow,  and  squared  himself,  back 
to  the  fire,  to  make  short  work  of  such  views. 

"I'd  no  notion  you  were  such  a  sucker.  You  can  bet,"  he 
said  darkly,  "those  fellas  aren't  making  a  bad  thing  out  of  that 
'Holy  Cross  business,'  as  you  call  it." 

"I  didn't  mean  business  in  that  sense." 

"What  else  could  they  do  if  they  didn't  do  this?" 

"Ask  the  same  of  any  parson." 

But  the  Colonel  didn't  care  to. 

"I  suppose,"  he  said  severely,  "you  could  even  make  a  hero 
out  of  that  hang-dog  Brother  Etienne." 

"No,  but  he  could  do  something  else,  for  he's  served  in  the 
French  army." 

"Then  there's  that  mad  Brother  Paul.  What  good  would 
he  be  at  anything  else?" 

"Well,  I  don't  know." 

"Brachet  and  Wills  are  decent  enough  men,  but  where  else 
would  they  have  the  power  and  the  freedom  they  have  at  Holy 
Cross?  Why,  they  live  there  like  feudal  barons." 

"Father  Richmond  could  have  done  anything  he  chose." 

"Ah,  Father  Richmond  -  "  The  Colonel  shut  his  mouth 
suddenly,  turned  about,  and  proceeded  to  crawl  under  his 
blankets,  feet  to  the  fire. 

"Well?" 

No  answer. 

"Well?"  insisted  the  Boy. 

"Oh,  Father  Richmond  must  have  seen  a  ghost." 


"Take  my  word  for  it.     He  got  frightened  somehow.     A 
man  like  Father  Richmond  has  to  be  scared  into  a  cassock." 
The  Boy's  sudden  laughter  deepened  the  Colonel's  own  im- 

237 


THE   MAGNETIC   NORTH 

pression  that  the  instance  chosen  had  not  been  fortunate.  One 
man  of  courage  knows  another  man  of  courage  when  he  sees 
him,  and  the  Colonel  knew  he  had  damned  his  own  argument. 

"Wouldn't  care  for  the  job  myself,"  the  Boy  was  saying. 

"What  job?" 

"Scarin'  Father  Richmond." 

The  Boy  sat  watching  the  slow  wet  snow-flakes  fall  and  die 
in  the  fire.  His  clothes  were  pretty  damp,  but  he  was  warm 
after  a  chilly  fashion,  as  warmth  goes  on  the  trail. 

The  Colonel  suddenly  put  his  head  out  from  under  the  mar 
mot-skin  to  say  discontentedly,  "What  you  sittin'  up  for?" 

"Oh  ...  for  instance!"  But  aside  from  the  pertness  of 
the  answer,  already  it  was  dimly  recognised  as  an  offence  for 
one  to  stay  up  longer  than  the  other. 

"Can't  think  how  it  is,"  the  Colonel  growled,  "that  you 
don't  see  that  their  principle  is  wrong.  Through  and  through 
mediaeval,  through  and  through  despotic.  They  make  a  virtue 
of  weakness,  a  fetich  of  vested  authority.  And  it  isn't  Ameri 
can  authority,  either." 

The  Boy  waited  for  him  to  quiet  down.  "What's  the  first 
rule,"  demanded  the  Colonel,  half  sitting  up,  "of  the  most 
powerful  Catholic  Order?  Blind  obedience  to  an  old  gentle 
man  over  in  Italy." 

"I  said  last  night,  you  know,"  the  Boy  put  in  quite  meekly, 
"that  it  all  seemed  very  un-American." 

"Huh!  Glad  you  can  see  that  much."  The  Colonel  drove 
his  huge  fist  at  the  provision-bag,  as  though  to  beat  the  stiff- 
necked  beans  into  a  feathery  yielding.  "Blind  submission  don't 
come  easy  to  most  Americans.  The  Great  Republic  was  built 
upon  revolt;"  and  he  pulled  the  covers  over  his  head. 

"I  know,  I  know.  We  jaw  an  awful  lot  about  freedom  and 
about  what's  American.  There's  plenty  o'  free  speech  in  Amer 
ica  and  plenty  o'  machinery,  but  there's  a  great  deal  o'  human 
nature,  too,  I  guess."  The  Boy  looked  out  of  the  corner  of 
his  eye  at  the  blanketed  back  of  his  big  friend.  "And  maybe 
there'll  always  be  some  people  who — who  think  there's  some 
thing  in  the  New  Testament  notion  o'  sacrifice  and  service." 

The  Colonel  rolled  like  an  angry  leviathan,  and  came  to  the 
surface  to  blow.  But  the  Boy  dashed  on,  with  a  fearful  joy  in 
his  own  temerity.  "The  difference  between  us,  Colonel,  is  that 
I'm  an  unbeliever,  and  I  know  it,  and  you're  a  cantankerous 
old  heathen,  and  you  don't  know  it."  The  Colonel  sat  sud- 

238 


HOLY   CROSS 

denly  bolt  upright.  "Needn't  look  at  me  like  that.  You're  as 
bad  as  anybody — rather  worse.  Why  are  you  here?  Dazzled 
and  lured  by  the  great  gold  craze.  An'  you're  not  even  poor. 
You  want  more  gold.  You've  got  a  home  to  stay  in ;  but  you 
weren't  satisfied,  not  even  in  the  fat  lands  down  below." 

"Well,"  said  the  Colonel  solemnly,  blinking  at  the  fire,  "I 
hope  I'm  a  Christian,  but  as  to  bein'  satisfied " 

"Church  of  England  can't  manage  it,  hey?" 

"Church  of  England's  got  nothing  to  do  with  it.  It's  a 
question  o'  character.  Satisfied!  We're  little  enough,  God 
knows,  but  we're  too  big  for  that." 

The  Boy  stood  up,  back  to  the  fire,  eyes  on  the  hilltops 
whitening  in  the  starlight. 

"Perhaps — not — all  of  us." 

"Yes,  sah,  all  of  us."  The  Colonel  lifted  his  head  with  a 
fierce  look  of  most  un-Christian  pride.  Behind  him  the  hills, 
leaving  the  struggling  little  wood  far  down  the  slope,  went  up 
and  up  into  dimness,  reaching  to  the  near-by  stars,  and  looking 
down  to  the  far-off  camp  fire  by  the  great  ice-river's  edge. 

"Yes,  sah,"  the  Colonel  thundered  again,  "all  that  have  got 
good  fightin'  blood  in  'em,  like  you  and  me.  'Tisn't  as  if  we 
came  of  any  worn-out,  frightened,  servile  old  stock.  You  and  I 
belong  to  the  free-livin',  hard-ridin',  straight-shootin'  Southern 
ers.  The  people  before  us  fought  bears,  and  fought  Indians, 
and  beat  the  British,  and  when  there  wasn't  anything  else  left 
to  beat,  turned  round  and  began  to  beat  one  another.  It  was 
the  one  battle  we  found  didn't  pay.  We  finished  that  job  up 
in  '65,  and  since  then  we've  been  lookin'  round  for  something 
else  to  beat.  We've  got  down  now  to  beatin'  records,  and  for 
eign  markets,  and  breedin'  prize  bulls;  but  we  don't  breed 
cowards — yet;  and  we  ain't  lookin'  round  for  any  asylums. 
The  Catholic  Church  is  an  asylum.  It's  for  people  who  never 
had  any  nerve,  or  who  have  lost  it." 

The  Colonel  turned  about,  wagged  his  head  defiantly  at  the 
icy  hills  and  the  night,  and  in  the  after-stillness  fell  sound 
asleep  in  the  snow. 


239 


CHAPTER   XII 

THE    GREAT   WHITE    SILENCE 

" paa  dit  Firmament 

Den  klare  Nordlyslampe  tsendt.     .     .     ." 

INNOCENTLY  thinking  that  they  had  seen  Arctic  travel 
ling  at  its  worst,  and  secretly  looking  upon  themselves  as 
highly  accomplished  trailmen,  they  had  covered  the  forty-one 
miles  from  Holy  Cross  to  Anvik  in  less  than  three  days. 

The  Colonel  made  much  of  the  pleasant  and  excellent  man 
at  the  head  of  the  Episcopal  mission  there,  and  the  Boy  haunted 
Benham's  store,  picking  up  a  little  Ingalik  and  the  A.  C.  method 
of  trading  with  the  Indians,  who,  day  and  night,  with  a  number 
of  stranded  Klondykers,  congregated  about  the  grateful  warmth 
of  the  big  iron  stove. 

The  travellers  themselves  did  some  business  with  the  A.  C. 
agent,  laying  in  supplies  of  fresh  meat,  and  even  augmenting 
their  hitherto  carefully  restricted  outfit,  for  they  were  going 
far  beyond  the  reach  of  stores,  or  even  of  missions.  Anvik 
was  the  last  white  settlement  below  Nulato;  Nulato  was  said 
to  be  over  two  hundred  miles  to  the  northward. 

And  yet  after  all  their  further  preparation  and  expense,  each 
man  kept  saying  in  his  heart,  during  those  first  days  out  from 
Anvik,  that  the  journey  would  be  easy  enough  but  for  their 
"comforts" — the  burden  on  the  sled.  By  all  the  rules  of  arith 
metic,  the  daily  subtraction  of  three  meals  from  the  store  should 
have  lightened  the  load.  It  seemed  to  have  the  opposite  effect. 
By  some  process  of  evil  enchantment  every  ounce  grew  to  weigh 
a  pound,  every  pound  a  hundredweight.  The  sled  itself  was 
bewitched.  Recall  how  lightsomely  it  ran  down  the  snowy 
slope,  from  the  Big  Chimney  Cabin  to  the  river  trail,  that 
morning  they  set  forth.  The  Boy  took  its  pretty  impetuosity 
for  a  happy  augury — the  very  sled  was  eager  for  the  mighty 
undertaking. 

But  never  in  all  that  weary  march  did  it  manifest  again  any 

240 


THE   GREAT   WHITE    SILENCE 

such  modest  alacrity.  If,  thereafter,  in  the  long  going  "up 
river"  there  came  an  interval  of  downhill,  the  sled  turned  sum 
mersaults  in  the  air,  wound  its  forward  or  backward  rope  round 
willow  scrub  or  alder,  or  else  advanced  precipitately  with  an 
evil,  low-comedy  air,  bottom  side  up,  to  attack  its  master  in  the 
shins.  It  either  held  back  with  a  power  superhuman,  or  it 
lunged  forward  with  a  momentum  that  capsized  its  weary  con 
ductor.  Its  manners  grew  steadily  worse  as  the  travellers 
pushed  farther  and  farther  into  the  wilderness,  beyond  the  exor 
cising  power  of  Holy  Cross,  beyond  the  softening  influences  of 
Christian  hospitality  at  Episcopal  Anvik,  even  beyond  Tisch- 
socket,  the  last  of  the  Indian  villages  for  a  hundred  miles. 

The  two  who  had  been  scornful  of  the  frailty  of  temper  they 
had  seen  common  in  men's  dealings  up  here  in  the  North,  began 
to  realize  that  all  other  trials  of  brotherhood  pale  before  the 
strain  of  life  on  the  Arctic  trail.  Beyond  any  question,  after 
a  while  something  goes  wrong  with  the  nerves.  The  huge 
drafts  on  muscular  endurance  have,  no  doubt,  something  to  do 
with  it.  They  worked  hard  for  fourteen,  sometimes  seventeen, 
hours  at  a  stretch;  they  were  ill-fed,  suffering  from  exposure, 
intense  cold,  and  a  haunting  uncertainty  of  the  end  of  the  un 
dertaking.  They  were  reasonable  fellows  as  men  go,  with  a 
respect  for  each  other,  but  when  hardship  has  got  on  the  nerves, 
when  you  are  suffering  the  agonies  of  snow-blindness,  sore  feet, 
and  the  pangs  of  hunger,  you  are  not,  to  put  it  mildly,  at  your 
best  as  a  member  of  the  social  order.  They  sometimes  said 
things  they  were  ashamed  to  remember,  but  both  men  grew 
carefuller  at  crucial  moments,  and  the  talkative  one  more  silent 
as  time  went  on. 

By  the  rule  of  the  day  the  hard  shift  before  dinner  usually 
fell  to  the  Boy.  It  was  the  worst  time  in  the  twenty-four  hours, 
and  equally  dreaded  by  both  men.  It  was  only  the  first  night 
out  from  Anvik,  after  an  unusually  trying  day,  the  Boy  was 
tramping  heavily  ahead,  bent  like  an  old  man  before  the  cutting 
sleet,  fettered  like  a  criminal,  hands  behind  back,  rope-wound, 
stiff,  straining  at  the  burden  of  the  slow  and  sullen  sled.  On 
a  sudden  he  stopped,  straightened  his  back,  and  remonstrated 
with  the  Colonel  in  unprintable  terms,  for  putting  off  the  halt 
later  than  ever  they  had  yet,  "after  such  a  day." 

"Can't  make  fire  with  green  cotton-wood,"  was  the  Colonel's 
rejoiner. 

"Then  let's  stop  and  rest,  anyhow." 

241 


THE    MAGNETIC   NORTH 

"Nuh !  We  know  where  that  would  land  us.  Men  who  stop 
to  rest,  go  to  sleep  in  the  snow,  and  men  who  go  to  sleep  in  the 
snow  on  empty  stomachs  don't  wake  up." 

They  pushed  on  another  mile.  When  the  Colonel  at  last 
called  the  halt,  the  Boy  sank  down  on  the  sled  too  exhausted  to 
speak.  But  it  had  grown  to  be  a  practice  with  them  not  to  trust 
themselves  to  talk  at  this  hour.  The  Colonel  would  give  the 
signal  to  stop,  simply  by  ceasing  to  push  the  sled  that  the  boy  was 
wearily  dragging.  The  Boy  had  invariably  been  feeling  (just 
as  the  Colonel  had  before,  during  his  shift  in  front)  that  the 
man  behind  wasn't  helping  all  he  might,  whereupon  followed 
a  vague,  consciously  unreasonable,  but  wholly  irresistible  rage 
against  the  partner  of  his  toil.  But  however  much  the  man  at 
the  back  was  supposed  to  spare  himself,  the  man  in  front  had 
never  yet  failed  to  know  when  the  impetus  from  behind  was 
really  removed. 

The  Boy  sat  now  on  the  sled,  silent,  motionless,  while  the 
Colonel  felled  and  chopped  and  brought  the  wood.  Then  the 
Boy  dragged  himself  up,  made  the  fire  and  the  beef-tea.  But 
still  no  word  even  after  that  reviving  cup — the  usual  signal  for 
a  few  remarks  and  more  social  relations  to  be  established.  To 
night  no  sound  out  of  either.  The  Colonel  changed  his  foot 
gear  and  the  melted  snow  in  the  pot  began  to  boil  noisily.  But 
the  Boy,  who  had  again  betaken  himself  to  the  sled,  didn't 
budge.  No  man  who  really  knows  the  trail  would  have  dared, 
under  the  circumstances,  to  remind  his  pardner  that  it  was  now 
his  business  to  get  up  and  fry  the  bacon.  But  presently,  without 
looking  up,  the  hungry  Colonel  ventured: 

"Get  your  dry  things!" 

"Feet  aren't  wet." 

"Don't  talk  foolishness;  here  are  your  things."  The  Colonel 
flung  in  the  Boy's  direction  the  usual  change,  two  pairs  of 
heavy  socks,  the  "German  knitted"  and  "the  felt." 

"Not  wet,"  repeated  the  Boy. 

"You  know  you  are." 

"Could  go  through  water  in  these  mucklucks." 

"I'm  not  saying  the  wet  has  come  in  from  outside;  but  you 
know  as  well  as  I  do  a  man  sweats  like  a  horse  on  the  trail." 

Still  the  Boy  sat  there,  with  his  head  sunk  between  his  shoul 
ders. 

"First  rule  o'  this  country  is  to  keep  your  feet  dry,  or  else 
pneumonia,  rheumatism — God  knows  what!" 

242 


THE   GREAT   WHITE    SILENCE 

"First  rule  o'  this  country  is  mind  your  own  business,  or  else 
— God  knows  what!" 

The  Colonel  looked  at  the  Boy  a  moment,  and  then  turned 
his  back.  The  Boy  glanced  up  conscience-stricken,  but  still  only 
half  alive,  dulled  by  the  weight  of  a  crushing  weariness.  The 
Colonel  presently  bent  over  the  fire  and  was  about  to  lift  off 
the  turbulently  boiling  pot.  The  Boy  sprang  to  his  feet,  ready 
to  shout,  "You  do  your  work,  and  keep  your  hands  off  mine," 
but  the  Colonel  turned  just  in  time  to  say  with  unusual  gentle 
ness: 

"If  you  like,  I'll  make  supper  to-night;"  and  the  Boy,  catch 
ing  his  breath,  ran  forward,  swaying  a  little,  half  blind,  but 
with  a  different  look  in  his  tired  eyes. 

"No,  no,  old  man.     It  isn't  as  bad  as  that." 

And  again  it  was  two  friends  who  slept  side  by  side  in  the 
snow. 

The  next  morning  the  Colonel,  who  had  been  kept  awake 
half  the  night  by  what  he  had  been  thinking  was  neuralgia  in 
his  eyes,  woke  late,  hearing  the  Boy  calling: 

"I  say,  Kentucky,  aren't  you  ever  goin'  to  get  up?" 

"Get  up?"  said  the  Colonel.  "Why  should  I,  when  it's 
pitch-dark?" 

"Whatf" 

"Fire  clean  out,  eh?"  But  he  smelt  the  tea  and  bacon,  and 
sat  up  bewildered,  with  a  hand  over  his  smarting  eyes.  The 
Boy  went  over  and  knelt  down  by  him,  looking  at  him  curiously. 

"Guess  you're  a  little  snow-blind,  Colonel ;  but  it  won't  last, 
you  know." 

"Blind!" 

"No,  no,  only  snow  -blind.  Big  difference;"  and  he  took 
out  his  rag  of  a  handkerchief,  got  some  water  in  a  tin  cup,  and 
the  eyes  were  bathed  and  bandaged. 

"It  won't  last,  you  know.  You'll  just  have  to  take  it  easy  for 
a  few  days." 

The  Colonel  groaned. 

For  the  first  time  he  seemed  to  lose  heart.  He  sat  during 
breakfast  with  bandaged  eyes,  and  a  droop  of  the  shoulders, 
that  seemed  to  say  old  age  had  come  upon  him  in  a  single  night. 
The  day  that  followed  was  pretty  dark  to  both  men.  The  Boy 
had  to  do  all  the  work,  except  the  monotonous,  blind,  pushing 
from  behind,  in  whatever  direction  the  Boy  dragged  the  sled. 

Now,  snow-blindness  is  not  usually  dangerous,  but  it  is  horri- 

243 


THE    MAGNETIC   NORTH 

bly  painful  while  it  lasts.  Your  eyes  swell  up  and  are  stabbed 
continually  by  cutting  pains ;  your  head  seems  full  of  acute  neu 
ralgia,  and  often  there  is  fever  and  other  complications.  The 
Colonel's  was  a  bad  case.  But  he  was  a  giant  for  strength 
and  "sound  as  a  dollar,"  as  the  Boy  reminded  him,  "except  for 
this  little  bother  with  your  eyes,  and  you're  a  whole  heap  better 
already." 

At  a  very  slow  rate  they  plodded  along. 

They  had  got  into  a  region  where  there  was  no  timber ;  but, 
as  they  couldn't  camp  without  a  fire,  they  took  an  extra  rest 
that  day  at  four  o'clock,  and  regaled  themselves  on  some  cold 
grub.  Then  they  took  up  the  line  of  march  again.  But  they 
had  been  going  only  about  half  an  hour  when  the  Colonel  sud 
denly,  without  warning,  stopped  pushing  the  sled,  and  stood 
stock-still  on  the  trail.  The  Boy,  feeling  the  removal  of  the 
pressure,  looked  round,  went  back  to  him,  and  found  nothing 
in  particular  was  the  matter,  but  he  just  thought  he  wouldn't 
go  any  further. 

"We  can  camp  here." 

"No,  we  can't,"  says  the  Boy;  "there  isn't  a  tree  in  sight." 

But  the  Colonel  seemed  dazed.  He  thought  he'd  stop  any 
how — "right  where  he  was." 

"Oh,  no,"  says  the  Boy,  a  little  frightened ;  "we'll  camp  the 
minute  we  come  to  wood."  But  the  Colonel  stood  as  if  rooted. 
The  Boy  took  his  arm  and  led  him  on  a  few  paces  to  the  sled. 
"You  needn't  push  hard,  you  know.  Just  keep  your  hand 
there  so,  without  looking,  you'll  know  where  I'm  going."  This 
was  very  subtle  of  the  Boy.  For  he  knew  the  Colonel  was  blind 
as  a  bat  and  as  sensitive  as  a  woman.  "We'll  get  through  all 
right  yet,"  he  called  back,  as  he  stooped  to  take  up  the  sled- 
rope.  "I  bet  on  Kentucky." 

Like  a  man  walking  in  his  sleep,  the  Colonel  followed,  now 
holding  on  to  the  sled  and  unconsciously  pulling  a  little,  and 
when  the  Boy,  very  nearly  on  his  last  legs,  remonstrated,  lean 
ing  against  it,  and  so  urging  it  a  little  forward. 

Oh,  but  the  wood  was  far  to  seek  that  night ! 

Concentrated  on  the  two  main  things — to  carry  forward 
his  almost  intolerable  load,  and  to  go  the  shortest  way  to  the 
nearest  wood — the  Boy,  by-and-by,  forgot  to  tell  his  tired  nerves 
to  take  account  of  the  unequal  pressure  from  behind.  If  he  felt 
it — well,  the  Colonel  was  a  corker;  if  he  didn't  feel  it — well, 
the  Colonel  was  just  about  tuckered  out.  It  was  very  late  when 

244 


THE   GREAT   WHITE   SILENCE 

at  last  the  Boy  raised  a  shout.  Behind  the  cliff  overhanging 
the  river-bed  that  they  were  just  rounding,  there,  spread  out 
in  the  sparkling  starlight,  as  far  as  he  could  see,  a  vast  primeval 
forest.  The  Boy  bettered  his  lagging  pace. 

"Ha!  you  haven't  seen  a  wood  like  this  since  we  left  'Frisco. 
It's  all  right  now,  Kentucky;"  and  he  bent  to  his  work  with  a 
will. 

When  he  got  to  the  edge  of  the  wood,  he  flung  down  the  rope 
and  turned — to  find  himself  alone. 

"Colonel!     Colonel!    Where  are  you?    Colonel!" 

He  stood  in  the  silence,  shivering  with  a  sudden  sense  of  deso 
lation.  He  took  his  bearings,  propped  a  fallen  fir  sapling  aslant 
by  the  sled,  and,  forgetting  he  was  ready  to  drop,  he  ran  swiftly 
back  along  the  way  he  came.  They  had  travelled  all  that  after 
noon  and  evening  on  the  river  ice,  hard  as  iron,  retaining  no 
trace  of  footprint  or  of  runner  possible  to  verify  even  in  day 
light.  The  Yukon  here  was  fully  three  miles  wide.  They  had 
meant  to  hug  the  right  bank,  but  snow  and  ice  refashion  the 
world  and  laugh  at  the  trustful  geography  of  men.  A  traveller 
on  this  trail  is  not  always  sure  whether  he  is  following  the 
mighty  Yukon  or  some  slough  equally  mighty  for  a  few  miles, 
or  whether,  in  the  protracted  twilight,  he  has  not  wandered  off 
upon  some  frozen  swamp. 

On  the  Boy  went  in  the  ghostly  starlight,  running,  stumbling, 
calling  at  regular  intervals,  his  voice  falling  into  a  melancholy 
monotony  that  sounded  foreign  to  himself.  It  occurred  to  him 
that  were  he  the  Colonel  he  wouldn't  recognise  it,  and  he  began 
instead  to  call  "Kentucky!  Ken-tuck-kee!"  sounding  those  fine 
barbaric  syllables  for  the  first  time,  most  like,  in  that  world  of 
ice  and  silence. 

He  stood  an  instant  after  his  voice  died,  and  listened  to  the 
quiet.  Yes,  the  people  were  right  who  said  nothing  was  so 
hard  to  bear  in  this  country  of  hardship — nothing  ends  by  being 
so  ghastly — as  the  silence.  No  bird  stirs.  The  swift-flashing 
fish  are  sealed  under  ice,  the  wood  creatures  gone  to  their  under 
ground  sleep.  No  whispering  of  the  pointed  firs,  stiff,  snow- 
clotted ;  no  swaying  of  the  scant  herbage  sheathed  in  ice  or 
muffled  under  winter's  wide  white  blanket.  No  greater  hush 
can  reign  in  the  interstellar  spaces  than  in  winter  on  the  Yukon. 

"Colonel!" 

Silence — like  a  negation  of  all  puny  things,  friendship,  human 

245 


THE    MAGNETIC   NORTH 

"Colonel!" 

Silence.  No  wonder  men  went  mad  up  here,  when  they  didn't 
drown  this  silence  in  strong  drink. 

On  and  on  he  ran,  till  he  felt  sure  he  must  have  passed  the 
Colonel,  unless — yes,  there  were  those  air-holes  in  the  river 
ice  ...  He  felt  choked  and  stopped  to  breathe.  Should  he 
go  back?  It  was  horrible  to  turn.  It  was  like  admitting  that 
the  man  was  not  to  be  found — that  this  was  the  end. 

"Colonel!" 

He  said  to  himself  that  he  would  go  back,  and  build  a  fire  for 
a  signal,  and  return;  but  he  ran  on  farther  and  farther  away 
from  the  sled  and  from  the  forest.  Was  it  growing  faintly 
light?  He  looked  up.  Oh,  yes;  presently  it  would  be  brighter 
still.  Those  streamers  of  pale  light  dancing  in  the  North ; 
they  would  be  green  and  scarlet  and  orange  and  purple,  and  the 
terrible  white  world  would  be  illumined  as  by  conflagration. 
He  stopped  again.  That  the  Colonel  should  have  dropped  so 
far  back  as  this,  and  the  man  in  front  not  know — it  was  incredi 
ble.  What  was  that?  A  shadow  on  the  ice.  A  frozen  hum 
mock?  No,  a  man.  Was  it  really  .  .  .  ?  Glory  hallelujah 
— it  was!  But  the  shadow  lay  there  ghastly  still  and  the  Boy's 
greeting  died  in  his  throat.  He  had  found  the  Colonel,  but  he 
had  found  him  delivered  over  to  that  treacherous  sleep  that  sel 
dom  knows  a  waking.  The  Boy  dropped  down  beside  his  friend, 
and  wasn't  far  off  crying.  But  it  was  a  tonic  to  young  nerves 
to  see  how,  like  one  dead,  the  man  lay  there,  for  all  the  calling 
and  tugging  by  the  arm.  The  Boy  rolled  the  body  over,  pulled 
open  the  things  at  the  neck,  and  thrust  his  hand  down,  till  he 
could  feel  the  heart  beating.  He  jumped  up,  got  a  handful  of 
snow,  and  rubbed  the  man's  face  with  it.  At  last  a  feeble  pro 
test — an  effort  to  get  away  from  the  Boy's  rude  succour. 

"Thank  God!     Colonel!  Colonel!  wake  up!" 

He  shook  him  hard.  But  the  big  man  only  growled  sullenly, 
and  let  his  leaden  weight  drop  back  heavily  on  the  ice.  The 
Boy  got  hold  of  the  neck  of  the  Colonel's  parki  and  pulled  him 
frantically  along  the  ice  a  few  yards,  and  then  realised  that  only 
the  terror  of  the  moment  gave  him  the  strength  to  do  that  much. 
To  drag  a  man  of  the  Colonel's  weight  all  the  way  to  the  wood 
was  stark  impossibility.  He  couldn't  get  him  eighty  yards.  If 
he  left  him  and  went  for  the  sled  and  fuel,  the  man  would  be 
dead  by  the  time  he  got  back.  If  he  stayed,  they  would  both 
be  frozen  in  a  few  hours.  It  was  pretty  horrible. 

246 


THE   GREAT   WHITE    SILENCE 

He  felt  faint  and  dizzy.  It  occurred  to  him  that  he  would 
pray.  He  was  an  agnostic  all  right,  but  the  Colonel  was  past 
praying  for  himself ;  and  here  was  his  friend — an  agnostic — here 
he  was  on  his  knees.  He  hadn't  prayed  since  he  was  a  little 
chap  down  in  the  South.  How  did  the  prayers  go?  "Our 
Father" — he  looked  up  at  the  reddening  aurora — "Our  Father, 

who  art  in  heaven "  His  eyes  fell  again  on  his  friend.  He 

leapt  to  his  feet  like  a  wild  animal,  and  began  to  go  at  the 
Colonel  with  his  fists.  The  blows  rained  thick  on  the  chest  of 
the  prostrate  man,  but  he  was  too  well  protected  to  feel  more 
than  the  shock.  But  now  they  came  battering  down,  under  the 
ear — right,  left,  as  the  man  turned  blindly  to  avoid  them — on 
the  jaw,  even  on  the  suffering  eyes,  and  that  at  last  stung  the 
sleeper  into  something  like  consciousness. 

He  struggled  to  his  feet  with  a  roar  like  a  wounded  bull, 
lunging  heavily  forward  as  the  Boy  eluded  him,  and  he  would 
have  pounded  the  young  fellow  out  of  existence  in  no  time  had 
he  stood  his  ground.  That  was  exactly  what  .the  Boy  didn't 
mean  to  do — he  was  always  just  a  little  way  on  in  front;  but  as 
the  Colonel's  half-insane  rage  cooled,  and  he  slowed  down  a 
bit,  the  Boy  was  at  him  again  like  some  imp  of  Satan.  Sound 
and  lithe  and  quick-handed  as  he  was,  he  was  no  match  for  the 
Colonel  at  his  best.  But  the  Colonel  couldn't  see  well,  and  his 
brain  was  on  fire.  He'd  kill  that  young  devil,  and  then  he'd  lie 
down  and  sleep  again. 

Meanwhile  Aurora  mounted  the  high  heavens ;  from  a  great 
corona  in  the  zenith  all  the  sky  was  hung  with  banners,  and 
the  snow  was  stained  as  if  with  blood.  The  Boy  looked  over 
his  shoulder,  and  saw  the  huge  figure  of  his  friend,  bearing 
down  upon  him,  with  his  discoloured  face  rage-distorted,  and 
murder  in  his  tortured  eyes.  A  moment's  sense  of  the  mon 
strous  spectacle  fell  so  poignant  upon  the  Boy,  that  he  felt  dimly 
he  must  have  been  full  half  his  life  running  this  race  with  death, 
followed  by  a  maniac  bent  on  murder,  in  a  world  whose  winter 
was  strangely  lit  with  the  leaping  fires  of  hell. 

At  last,  on  there  in  front,  the  cliff!  Below  it,  the  sharp  bend 
in  the  river,  and  although  he  couldn't  see  it  yet,  behind  the 
cliff  the  forest,  and  a  little  hand-sled  bearing  the  means  of 
life. 

The  Colonel  was  down  again,  but  it  wasn't  safe  to  go  near 
him  just  yet.  The  Boy  ran  on,  unpacked  the  sled,  and  went, 
axe  in  hand,  along  the  margin  of  the  wood.  Never  before  was 

247 


THE   MAGNETIC   NORTH 

a  fire  made  so  quickly.  Then,  with  the  flask,  back  to  the 
Colonel,  almost  as  sound  asleep  as  before. 

The  Boy  never  could  recall  much  about  the  hours  that  fol 
lowed.  There  was  nobody  to  help,  so  it  must  have  been  he 
who  somehow  got  the  Colonel  to  the  fire,  got  him  to  swallow 
some  food,  plastered  his  wounded  face  over  with  the  carbolic 
ointment,  and  got  him  into  bed,  for  in  the  morning  all  this  was 
seen  to  have  been  done. 

They  stayed  in  camp  that  day  to  "rest  up,"  and  the  Boy 
shot  a  rabbit.  The  Colonel  was  coming  round ;  the  rest,  or  the 
ointment,  or  the  tea-leaf  poultice,  had  been  good  for  snow- 
blindness.  The  generous  reserve  of  strength  in  his  magnificent 
physique  was  quick  to  announce  itself.  He  was  still  "fright 
fully  bunged  up,"  but  "I  think  we'll  push  on  to-morrow," 
he  said  that  night,  as  he  sat  by  the  fire  smoking  before  turn 
ing  in. 

"Right  you  are!"  said  the  Boy,  who  was  mending  the  sled- 
runner.  Neither  had  referred  to  that  encounter  on  the  river- 
ice,  that  had  ended  in  bringing  the  Colonel  where  there  was 
succour.  Nothing  was  said,  then  or  for  long  after,  in  the  way 
of  deliberate  recognition  that  the  Boy  had  saved  his  life.  It 
wasn't  necessary;  they  understood  each  other. 

But  in  the  evening,  after  the  Boy  had  finished  mending  the 
sled,  it  occurred  to  him  he  must  also  mend  the  Colonel  before 
they  went  to  bed.  He  got  out  the  box  of  ointment  and  bespread 
the  strips  of  torn  handkerchief. 

"Don't  know  as  I  need  that  to-night,"  says  the  Colonel. 
"Musn't  waste  ointment." 

But  the  Boy  brought  the  bandages  round  to  the  Colonel's 
side  of  the  fire.  For  an  instant  they  looked  at  each  other  by 
the  flickering  light,  and  the  Colonel  laid  his  hand  on  the  Boy's 
arm.  His  eyes  looked  worse  for  the  moment,  and  began  to 
water.  He  turned  away  brusquely,  and  knocked  the  ashes  out 
of  his  pipe  on  a  log. 

"What  in  hell  made  you  think  of  it?" 

"Ask  me  an  easy  one,"  says  the  Boy.  "But  I  know  what  the 
Jesuit  Fathers  would  say." 

"Jesuits  and  George  Warren!  Humph!  precious  little  we'd 
agree  about." 

"You  would  about  this.  It  flashed  over  me  when  I  looked 
back  and  saw  you  peltin'  after  me." 

"Small  wonder  I  made  for  you!  I'm  not  findin'  fault,  but 

248 


THE   GREAT   WHITE    SILENCE 

what  on  earth  put  it  into  your  head  to  go  at  me  with  your  fists 
like  that?" 

"You'll  never  prove  it  by  me.  But  when  I  saw  you  comin' 
at  me  like  a  mad  bull,  I  thought  to  myself,  thinks  I,  the  Colonel 
and  the  Jesuits,  they'd  both  of  'em  say  this  was  a  direct  answer 
to  prayer." 


249 


CHAPTER   XIII 

THE    PIT 

"L'humanite*  a  commence  tout  entiere  par  le  crime.  .  .  .  C'etait  le 
vieux  nourricier  des  homines  des  cavernes." — ANATOLE  FRANCE. 

AN  old  story  now,  these  days  of  silent  plodding  through 
the  driving  snow. 
But  if  outward  conditions  lacked  variety,  not  so  their 
cumulative  effect  upon  poor  human  nature.    A  change  was  go 
ing  on  in  the  travellers  that  will  little  commend  them  to  the 
sentimentalist. 

"I've  come  to  think  a  snow-storm's  all  right  to  travel  in,  all 
right  to  sleep  in,"  said  the  Colonel  one  morning;  "but  to  cook 
in,  eat  in,  make  or  break  camp  in — it's  the  devil's  champion 
invention."  For  three  days  they  had  worked  like  galley-slaves, 
and  yet  covered  less  than  ten  miles  a  day.  "And  you  never  get 
rested,"  the  Colonel  went  on ;  "I  get  up  as  tired  as  I  go  to  bed." 

Again  the  Boy  only  nodded.  His  body,  if  not  his  temper, 
had  got  broken  into  the  trail,  but  for  a  talkative  person  he  had 
in  these  days  strangely  little  to  say.  It  became  manifest  that, 
in  the  long  run,  the  Colonel  would  suffer  the  most  physically; 
but  his  young  companion,  having  less  patience  and  more  ambi 
tion,  more  sheer  untamed  vitality  in  him,  would  suffer  the  most 
in  spirit.  Every  sense  in  him  was  becoming  numbed,  save  the 
gnawing  in  his  stomach,  and  that  other,  even  more  acute  ache; 
queer  compound  of  fatigue  and  anger.  These  two  sensations 
swallowed  up  all  else,  and  seemed  to  grow  by  what  they  fed  on. 

The  loaded  sled  was  a  nightmare.  It  weighed  a  thousand 
tons.  The  very  first  afternoon  out  from  Anvik,  when  in  the 
desperate  hauling  and  tugging  that  rescued  it  from  a  bottomless 
snow-drift,  the  lashing  slipped,  the  load  loosened,  tumbled  off, 
and  rolled  open,  the  Colonel  stood  quite  still  and  swore  till  his 
half-frozen  blood  circulated  freely  again.  When  it  came  to 
repacking,  he  considered  in  detail  the  items  that  made  up  the 
intolerable  weight,  and  fell  to  wondering  which  of  them  they 
could  do  without. 

250 


THE    PIT 

The  second  day  out  from  Anvik  they  had  decided  that  it 
was  absurd,  after  all,  to  lug  about  so  much  tinware.  They 
left  a  little  saucepan  and  the  extra  kettle  at  that  camp.  The 
idea,  so  potent  at  Anvik,  of  having  a  tea-kettle  in  reserve — 
well,  the  notion  lost  weight,  and  the  kettle  seemed  to  gain. 

Two  pairs  of  boots  and  some  flannels  marked  the  next  stop 
ping-place. 

On  the  following  day,  when  the  Boy's  rifle  kept  slipping  and 
making  a  brake  to  hold  back  the  sled,  "I  reckon  you'll  have  to 
plant  that  rifle  o'  yours  in  the  next  big  drift,"  said  the  Colonel ; 
"one's  all  we  need,  anyway." 

"One's  all  you  need,  and  one's  all  I  need,"  answered  the  Boy 
stiffly. 

But  it  wasn't  easy  to  see  immediate  need  for  either.  Never 
was  country  so  bare  of  game,  they  thought,  not  considering  how 
little  they  hunted,  and  how  more  and  more  every  faculty,  every 
sense,  was  absorbed  in  the  bare  going  forward. 

The  next  time  the  Colonel  said  something  about  the  useless- 
ness  of  carrying  two  guns,  the  Boy  flared  up :  "If  you  object  to 
guns,  leave  yours." 

This  was  a  new  tone  for  the  Boy  to  use  to  the  Colonel. 

"Don't  you  think  we'd  better  hold  on  to  the  best  one?" 

Now  the  Boy  couldn't  deny  that  the  Colonel's  was  the  better, 
but  none  the  less  he  had  a  great  affection  for  his  own  old  44 
Marlin,  and  the  Colonel  shouldn't  assume  that  he  had  the  right 
to  dictate.  This  attitude  of  the  "wise  elder"  seemed  out  of 
place  on  the  trail. 

"A  gun's  a  necessity.  I  haven't  brought  along  any  whim- 
whams." 

"Who  has?" 

"Well,  it  wasn't  me  that  went  loadin'  up  at  Anvik  with  fool 
thermometers  and  things." 

"Thermometer!     WTiy,  it  doesn't  weigh " 

"Weighs  something,  and  it's  something  to  pack;  frozen  half 
the  time,  too.  And  when  it  isn't,  what's  the  good  of  havin'  it 
hammered  into  us  how  near  we  are  to  freezin'  to  death."  But 
it  annoyed  him  to  think  how  very  little  in  argument  a  ther 
mometer  weighed  against  a  rifle. 

They  said  no  more  that  day  about  lightening  the  load,  but 
with  a  double  motive  they  made  enormous  inroads  upon  their 
provisions. 

A  morning  came  when  the  Colonel,  packing  hurriedly  in  the 

251 


THE   MAGNETIC   NORTH 

biting  cold,  forgot  to  shove  his  pardner's  gun  into  its  accus 
tomed  place. 

The  Boy,  returning  from  trail-breaking  to  the  river,  kicked  at 
the  butt  to  draw  attention  to  the  omission.  The  Colonel  flung 
down  the  end  of  the  ice-coated  rope  he  had  lashed  the  load  with, 
and,  "Pack  it  yourself,"  says  he. 

The  Boy  let  the  rifle  lie.  But  all  day  long  he  felt  the  loss  of 
it  heavy  on  his  heart,  and  no  reconciling  lightness  in  the  sled. 

The  Colonel  began  to  have  qualms  about  the  double  rations 
they  were  using.  It  was  only  the  seventeenth  night  after  turn 
ing  their  backs  on  the  Big  Chimney,  as  the  Colonel  tipped  the 
pan,  pouring  out  half  the  boiled  beans  into  his  pardner's  plate, 
"That's  the  last  o'  the  strawberries!  Don't  go  expectin'  any 
more,"  says  he. 

"What!"  ejaculated  the  Boy,  aghast;  then  quickly,  to  keep 
a  good  face:  "You  take  my  life  when  you  do  take  the  beans, 
whereby  I  live." 

When  the  Colonel  had  disposed  of  his  strawberries,  "Lord !" 
he  sighed,  trying  to  rub  the  stiffness  out  of  his  hands  over  the 
smoke,  "the  appetite  a  fella  can  raise  up  here  is  something  ter 
rible.  You  eat  and  eat,  and  it  doesn't  seem  to  make  any  im 
pression.  You're  just  as  hungry  as  ever." 

"And  the  stuff  a  fella  can  eat!" 

The  Colonel  recalled  that  speech  of  the  Boy's  the  very  next 
night,  when,  after  "a  hell  of  a  time"  getting  the  fire  alight,  he 
was  bending  forward  in  that  attitude  most  trying  to  maintain, 
holding  the  frying-pan  at  long  range  over  the  feebly-smoking 
sticks.  He  had  to  cook,  to  live  on  snow-shoes  nowadays,  for 
the  heavy  Colonel  had  illustrated  oftener  than  the  Boy,  that 
going  without  meant  breaking  in,  floundering,  and,  finally,  hav 
ing  to  call  for  your  pardner  to  haul  you  out.  This  was  one  of 
the  many  uses  of  a  pardner  on  the  trail.  The  last  time  the 
Colonel  had  trusted  to  the  treacherous  crust  he  had  gone  in 
head  foremost,  and  the  Boy,  happening  to  look  round,  saw  only 
two  snow-shoes,  bottom  side  up,  moving  spasmodically  on  the 
surface  of  the  drift.  The  Colonel  was  nearly  suffocated  by  the 
time  he  was  pulled  out,  and  after  that  object-lesson  he  stuck 
to  snow-shoes  every  hour  of  the  twenty-four,  except  those  spent 
in  the  sleeping-bag. 

But  few  things  on  earth  are  more  exasperating  than  trying  to 
work  mounted  on  clumsy,  long  web-feet  that  keep  jarring 
against,  yet  holding  you  off  from,  the  tree  you  are  felling,  or 

252 


THE   PIT 

the  fire  you  are  cooking  over.  You  are  constrained  to  stand 
wholly  out  of  natural  relation  to  the  thing  you  are  trying  to 
do — the  thing  you've  got  to  do,  if  you  mean  to  come  out  alive. 

The  Colonel  had  been  through  all  this  time  and  time  again, 
But  as  he  squatted  on  his  heels  to-night,  cursing  the  foot  and  a 
half  of  snow-shoe  that  held  him  away  from  the  sullen  fire, 
straining  every  muscle  to  keep  the  outstretched  frying-pan  over 
the  best  of  the  blaze,  he  said  to  himself  that  what  had  got  him 
on  the  raw  was  that  speech  of  the  Boy's  yesterday  about  the 
stuff  he  had  to  eat.  If  the  Boy  objected  to  having  his  rice  par 
boiled  in  smoked  water  he  was  damned  unreasonable,  that 
was  all. 

The  culprit  reappeared  at  the  edge  of  the  darkening  wood. 
He  came  up  eagerly,  and  flung  down  an  armful  of  fuel  for  the 
morning,  hoping  to  find  supper  ready.  Since  it  wasn't,  he  knew 
that  he  mustn't  stand  about  and  watch  the  preparations.  By 
this  time  he  had  learned  a  good  deal  of  the  trail-man's  unwrit 
ten  law.  On  no  account  must  you  hint  that  the  cook  is  in 
competent,  or  even  slow,  any  more  than  he  may  find  fault  with 
your  moment  for  calling  halt,  or  with  your  choice  of  timber. 
So  the  woodman  turned  wearily  away  from  the  sole  spot  of 
brightness  in  the  waste,  and  went  back  up  the  hill  in  the  dark 
and  the  cold,  to  busy  himself  about  his  own  work,  even  to  spin 
it  out,  if  necessary,  till  he  should  hear  the  gruff  "Grub's  ready!" 
And  when  that  dinner-gong  sounds,  don't  you  dally!  Don't 
you  wait  a  second.  You  may  feel  uncomfortable  if  you  find 
yourself  twenty  minutes  late  for  a  dinner  in  London  or  New 
York,  but  to  be  five  minutes  late  for  dinner  on  the  Winter  Trail 
is  to  lay  up  lasting  trouble. 

By  the  time  the  rice  and  bacon  were  done,  and  the  flap-jack, 
still  raw  in  the  middle,  was  burnt  to  charcoal  on  both  sides, 
the  Colonel's  eyes  were  smarting,  in  the  acrid  smoke,  and  the 
tears  were  running  down  his  cheeks. 

"Grub's  ready!" 

The  Boy  came  up  and  dropped  on  his  heels  in  the  usual  atti 
tude.  The  Colonel  tore  a  piece  off  the  half-charred,  half-raw 
pancake. 

"Maybe  you'll  think  the  fire  isn't  thoroughly  distributed,  but 
that's  got  to  do  for  bread,"  he  remarked  severely,  as  if  in  reply 
to  some  objection. 

The  Boy  saw  that  something  he  had  said  or  looked  had  been 
misinterpreted. 

253 


THE   MAGNETIC   NORTH 

"Hey?  Too  much  fire  outside,  and  not  enough  in?  Well, 
sir,  I'll  trust  my  stomach  to  strike  a  balance.  Guess  the  heat'll 
get  distributed  all  right  once  I've  swallowed  it." 

When  the  Colonel,  mollified,  said  something  about  cinders  in 
the  rice,  the  Boy,  with  his  mouth  full  of  grit,  answered:  "I'm 
pretendin'  it's  sugar." 

Not  since  the  episode  of  the  abandoned  rifle  had  he  shown 
himself  so  genial. 

"Never  in  all  my  bohn  life,"  says  the  Colonel  after  eating 
steadily  for  some  time — "never  in  a  year,  sah,  have  I  thought 
as  much  about  food  as  I  do  in  a  day  on  this trail." 

"Same  here." 

"And  it's  quantity,  not  quality." 

"Ditto." 

The  Boy  turned  his  head  sharply  away  from  the  fire.  "Hear 
that?" 

No  need  to  ask.  The  Colonel  had  risen  upright  on  his 
cramped  legs,  red  eyes  starting  out  of  his  head.  The  Boy  got 
up,  turned  about  in  the  direction  of  the  hollow  sound,  and  made 
one  step  away  from  the  fire. 

"You  stay  right  where  you  are !"  ordered  the  Colonel,  quite 
in  the  old  way. 

"Hey?" 

"That's  a  bird-song." 

"Thought  so." 

"Mr.  Wolf  smelt  the  cookin' ;  want's  the  rest  of  the  pack  to 
know  there's  something  queer  up  here  on  the  hill."  Then,  as 
the  Boy  moved  to  one  side  in  the  dark:  "What  you  lookin' 
for?" 

"My  gun." 

"Mine's  here." 

Oh  yes!  His  own  old  44  Marlin  was  lying  far  down  the 
river  under  eight-and-fifty  hours  of  snow.  It  angered  him 
newly  and  more  than  ever  to  remember  that  if  he  had  a  shot  at 
anything  now  it  must  needs  be  by  favour  of  the  Colonel. 

They  listened  for  that  sound  again,  the  first  since  leaving 
Anvik  not  made  by  themselves. 

"Seems  a  lot  quieter  than  it  did,"  observed  the  Colonel  by- 
and-bye. 

The  Boy  nodded. 

Without   preface   the  Colonel  observed: 

"It's  five  days  since  I  washed  my  face  and  hands." 

254 


THE    PIT 

"What's  the  good  o'  rememberin'  ?"  returned  the  Boy  sharply. 
Then  more  mildly:  "People  talk  about  the  bare  necessaries  o' 
life.  Well,  sir,  when  they're  really  bare  you  find  there  ain't 
but  three — food,  warmth,  sleep." 

Again  in  the  distance  that  hollow  baying. 

"Food,  warmth,  sleep,"  repeated  the  Colonel.  "We've  about 
got  down  to  the  wolf  basis. 

He  said  it  half  in  defiance  of  the  trail's  fierce  lessoning;  but 
it  was  truer  than  he  knew. 

They  built  up  the  fire  to  frighten  off  the  wolves,  but  the 
Colonel  had  his  rifle  along  when  they  went  over  and  crawled 
into  their  sleeping-bag.  Half  in,  half  out,  he  laid  the  gun  care 
fully  along  the  right  on  his  snow-shoes.  As  the  Boy  buttoned 
the  fur-lined  flap  down  over  their  heads  he  felt  angrier  with  the 
Colonel  than  he  had  ever  been  before. 

"Took  good  care  to  hang  on  to  his  own  shootin'-iron.  Sup 
pose  anything  should  happen";  and  he  said  it  over  and  over. 

Exactly  what  could  happen  he  did  not  make  clear;  the  real 
danger  was  not  from  wolves,  but  it  was  something.  And  he 
would  need  a  rifle.  .  .  .  And  he  wouldn't  have  one.  .  .  . 
And  it  was  the  Colonel's  fault. 


Now,  it  had  long  been  understood  that  the  woodman  is  lord 
of  the  wood.  When  it  came  to  the  Colonel's  giving  unasked 
advice  about  the  lumber  business,  the  Boy  turned  a  deaf  ear,  and 
thought  well  of  himself  for  not  openly  resenting  the  inter 
ference. 

"The  Colonel  talks  an  awful  lot,  anyway.  He  has  more  hot 
air  to  offer  than  muscle." 

When  they  sighted  timber  that  commended  itself  to  the 
woodman,  if  he  thought  well  of  it,  why,  he  just  dropped  the 
sled-rope  without  a  word,  pulled  the  axe  out  of  the  lashing, 
trudged  up  the  hillside,  holding  the  axe  against  his  shirt  under 
neath  his  parki,  till  he  reached  whatever  tree  his  eye  had  marked 
for  his  own.  Off  with  the  fur  mitt,  and  bare  hand  protected 
by  the  inner  mitt  of  wool,  he  would  feel  the  axe-head,  for  there 
was  always  the  danger  of  using  it  so  cold  that  the  steel  would 
chip  and  fly.  As  soon  as  he  could  be  sure  the  proper  molecular 
change  had  been  effected,  he  would  take  up  his  awkward  atti 
tude  before  the  selected  spruce,  leaning  far  forward  on  his  snow- 
shoes,  and  seeming  to  deliver  the  blows  on  tip-toe. 

255 


THE   MAGNETIC   NORTH 

But  the  real  trouble  came  when,  after  felling  the  dead  tree, 
splitting  an  armful  of  fuel  and  carrying  it  to  the  Colonel,  he 
returned  to  the  task  of  cutting  down  the  tough  green  spruce  for 
their  bedding.  Many  strained  blows  must  be  delivered  before 
he  could  effect  the  chopping  of  even  a  little  notch.  Then  he 
would  shift  his  position  and  cut  a  corresponding  notch  further 
round,  so  making  painful  circuit  of  the  bole.  To-night,  what 
with  being  held  off  by  his  snow-shoes,  what  with  utter  weari 
ness  and  a  dulled  axe,  he  growled  to  himself  that  he  was  "only 
gnawin'  a  ring  round  the  tree  like  a  beaver !" 

"Damn  the  whole Wait!"     Perhaps  the  cursed  snow 

was  packed  enough  now  to  bear.  He  slipped  off  the  web-feet, 
and  standing  gingerly,  but  blessedly  near,  made  effectual  attack. 
Hooray !  One  more  good  'un  and  the  thing  was  down.  Hah ! 
ugh!  Woof-ff!  The  tree  was  down,  but  so  was  he,  flounder 
ing  breast  high,  and  at  every  effort  to  get  out  only  breaking 
down  more  of  the  crust  and  sinking  deeper. 

This  was  not  the  first  time  such  a  thing  had  happened.  Why 
did  he  feel  as  if  it  was  for  him  the  end  of  the  world  ?  He  lay 
still  an  instant.  It  would  be  happiness  just  to  rest  here  and  go 
to  sleep.  The  Colonel!  Oh,  well,  the  Colonel  had  taken  his 
,rifle.  Funny  there  should  be  orange-trees  up  here.  He  could 
smell  them.  He  shut  his  eyes.  Something  shone  red  and  glow 
ing.  Why,  that  was  the  sun  making  an  effect  of  stained  glass 
as  it  shone  through  the  fat  pine  weather-boarding  of  his  little 
bedroom  on  the  old  place  down  in  Florida.  Suddenly  a  face. 
Ah,  that  face!  He  must  be  up  and  doing.  He  knew  perfectly 
well  how  to  get  out  of  this  damn  hole.  You  lie  on  your  side  and 
roll.  Gradually  you  pack  the  softness  tight  till  it  bears — not 
if  you  stand  up  on  your  feet,  but  bears  the  length  of  your  body, 
while  you  worm  your  way  obliquely  to  the  top,  and  feel  ginger 
ly  in  the  dimness  after  your  snow-shoes. 

But  if  it  happens  on  a  pitch-dark  night,  and  your  pardner 
has  chosen  camp  out  of  earshot,  you  feel  that  you  have  looked 
close  at  the  end  of  the  Long  Trail. 

On  getting  back  to  the  fire,  he  found  the  Colonel  annoyed 
at  having  called  "Grub!"  three  times — "yes,  sah!  three  times, 
sah!" 

And  they  ate  in  silence. 

"Now  I'm  going  to  bed,"  said  the  Boy,  rising  stiffly. 

"You  just  wait  a  minute." 

"No." 

256 


THE    PIT 

Now,  the  Colonel  himself  had  enunciated  the  law  that 
whenever  one  of  them  was  ready  to  sleep  the  other  must  come 
too.  He  didn't  know  it,  but  it  is  one  of  the  iron  rules  of  the 
Winter  Trail.  In  absence  of  its  enforcement,  the  later  comer 
brings  into  the  warmed  up  sleeping-bag  not  only  the  chill  of  his 
own  body,  he  lets  in  the  bitter  wind,  and  brings  along  whatever 
snow  and  ice  is  clinging  to  his  boots  and  clothes.  The  melting 
and  warming-up  is  all  to  be  done  again. 

But  the  Colonel  was  angry. 

"Most  unreasonable,"  he  muttered — "damned  unreason 
able!" 

Worse  than  the  ice  and  the  wet  in  the  sleeping-bag,  was  this 
lying  in  such  close  proximity  to  a  young  jackanapes  who 
wouldn't  come  when  you  called  "Grub!"  and  wouldn't  wait 
a  second  till  you'd  felt  about  in  the  dimness  for  your  gun. 
Hideous  to  lie  so  close  to  a  man  who  snored,  and  who'd  deprived 
you  of  your  44  Marlin.  Although  it  meant  life,  the  Boy 
grudged  the  mere  animal  heat  that  he  gave  and  that  he  took. 
Full  of  grudging,  he  dropped  asleep.  But  the  waking  spirit 
followed  him  into  his  dreams.  An  ugly  picture  painted  itself 
upon  the  dark,  and  struggling  against  the  vision,  he  half  awoke. 
With  the  first  returning  consciousness  came  the  oppression  of 
the  yoke,  the  impulse  to  match  the  mental  alienation  with  that 
of  the  body — strong  need  to  move  away. 

You  can't  move  away  in  a  sleeping-bag. 

In  a  city  you  may  be  alone,  free. 

On  the  trail,  you  walk  in  bonds  with  your  yoke-fellow,  make 
your  bed  with  him,  with  him  rise  up,  and  with  him  face  the 
lash  the  livelong  day. 


"Well,"  sighed  the  Colonel,  after  toiling  onward  for  a 
couple  of  hours  the  next  morning,  "this  is  the  worst  yet." 

But  by  the  middle  of  the  afternoon,  "What  did  I  say?  Why, 
this  morning — everything  up  till  now  has  been  child's  play." 
He  kept  looking  at  the  Boy  to  see  if  he  could  read  any  sign  of 
halt  in  the  tense,  scarred  face. 

Certainly  the  wind  was  worse,  the  going  was  worse.  The 
sled  kept  breaking  through  and  sinking  to  the  level  of  the  load. 
There  it  went!  in  again.  They  tugged  and  hauled,  and  only 
dragged  the  lashing  loose,  while  the  sled  seemed  soldered  to 
the  hard-packed  middle  of  the  drift.  As  they  reloaded,  the 

257 


THE    MAGNETIC   NORTH 

thermometer  came  to  light.  The  Colonel  threw  it  out,  with 
never  a  word.  They  had  no  clothes  now  but  what  they  stood 
in,  and  only  one  thing  on  the  sled  they  could  have  lived  without 
— their  money,  a  packet  of  trading  stores.  But  they  had  thrown 
away  more  than  they  knew.  Day  by  day,  not  flannels  and  boots 
alone,  not  merely  extra  kettle,  thermometer  and  gun  went  over 
board,  but  some  grace  of  courtesy,  some  decency  of  life  had  been 
left  behind. 

About  three  o'clock  of  this  same  day,  dim  with  snow,  and 
dizzy  in  a  hurricane  of  wind,  "We  can't  go  on  like  this,"  said 
the  Boy  suddenly. 

"Wish  I  knew  the  way  we  could  go  on,"  returned  the  Colonel, 
stopping  with  an  air  of  utter  helplessness,  and  forcing  his  rigid 
hands  into  his  pockets.  The  Boy  looked  at  him.  The  man  of 
dignity  and  resource,  who  had  been  the  boss  of  the  Big  Chim 
ney  Camp — what  had  become  of  him?  Here  was  only  a  big, 
slouching  creature,  with  ragged  beard,  smoke-blackened  counte 
nance,  and  eyes  that  wept  continually. 

"Come  on,"  said  his  equally  ruffianly-looking  pardner,  "we'll 
both  go  ahead." 

So  they  abandoned  their  sled  for  awhile,  and  when  they  had 
forged  a  way,  came  back,  and  one  pulling,  the  other  pushing, 
lifting,  guiding,  between  them,  with  infinite  pains  they  got  their 
burden  to  the  end  of  the  beaten  track,  left  it,  and  went  ahead 
again — travelling  three  miles  to  make  one. 

"What's  the  matter  now?" 

The  Boy  was  too  tired  to  turn  his  head  round  and  look  back, 
but  he  knew  that  the  other  man  wasn't  doing  his  share.  He 
remembered  that  other  time  when  the  Colonel  had  fallen  be 
hind.  It  seemed  years  ago,  and  even  further  away  was  the  vague 
recollection  of  how  he'd  cared.  How  horribly  frightened  he'd 
been!  Wasn't  he  frightened  now?  No.  It  was  only  a  dull 
curiosity  that  turned  him  round  at  last  to  see  what  it  was  that 
made  the  Colonel  peg  out  this  time.  He  was  always  peggin' 
out.  Yes,  there  he  was,  stoppin'  to  stroke  himself.  Trail- 
man  ?  An  old  woman !  Fit  only  for  the  chimney-corner.  And 
even  when  they  went  on  again  he  kept  saying  to  himself  as  he 
bent  to  the  galling  strain,  "An  old  woman — just  an  old 
woman !"  till  he  made  a  refrain  of  the  words,  and  in  the  level 
places  marched  to  the  tune.  After  that,  whatever  else  his  vague 
thought  went  off  upon,  it  came  back  to  "An  old  woman — just 
an  old  woman!" 

258 


THE    PIT 

It  was  at  a  bad  place  towards  the  end  of  that  forced  march 
that  the  Colonel,  instead  of  lifting  the  back  of  the  sled,  bore 
hard  on  the  handle-bar.  With  a  vicious  sound  it  snapped.  The 
Boy  turned  heavily  at  the  noise.  When  he  saw  the  Colonel 
standing,  dazed,  with  the  splintered  bar  in  his  hand,  his  dull  eyes 
flashed.  With  sudden  vigour  he  ran  back  to  see  the  extent  of 
the  damage. 

"Well,  it's  pretty  discouragin',"  says  the  Colonel  very  low. 

The  Boy  gritted  his  teeth  with  suppressed  rage.  It  was  only 
a  chance  that  it  hadn't  happened  when  he  himself  was  behind, 
but  he  couldn't  see  that.  No;  it  was  the  Colonel's  bungling — 
tryin'  to  spare  himself ;  leanin'  on  the  bar  instead  o'  lif tin'  the 
sled,  as  he,  the  Boy,  would  have  done. 

With  stiff  hands  they  tried  to  improvise  a  makeshift  with  a 
stick  of  birch  and  some  string. 

"Don't  know  what  you  think,"  says  the  Colonel  presently, 
"but  I  call  this  a  desperate  business  we've  undertaken." 

The  Boy  didn't  trust  himself  to  call  it  anything.  With  a 
bungled  job  they  went  lamely  on.  The  loose  snow  was  whirl 
ing  about  so,  it  was  impossible  to  say  whether  it  was  still  fall 
ing,  or  only  hurricane-driven. 

To  the  Colonel's  great  indignation  it  was  later  than  usual 
before  they  camped. 

Not  a  word  was  spoken  by  either  till  they  had  finished  their 
first  meal,  and  the  Colonel  had  melted  a  frying-pan  full  of  snow 
preparatory  to  the  second.  He  took  up  the  rice-bag,  held  it  by 
the  top,  and  ran  his  mittened  hand  down  the  gathered  sack  till 
he  had  outlined  the  contents  at  the  bottom. 

"Lord!     That's  all  there  is." 

The  boy  only  blinked  his  half-shut  eyes.  The  change  in 
him,  from  talkativeness  to  utter  silence,  had  grown  horribly 
oppressive  to  the  Colonel.  He  often  felt  he'd  like  to  shake  him 
till  he  shook  some  words  out.  "I  told  you  days  ago,"  he  went 
on,  "that  we  ought  to  go  on  rations." 

Silence. 

"But  no!  you  knew  so  much  better." 

The  Boy  shut  his  eyes,  and  suddenly,  like  one  struggling 
against  sleep  or  swooning,  he  roused  himself. 

"I  thought  I  knew  the  more  we  took  off  the  damn  sled  the 
lighter  it'd  be.  'Tisn't  so." 

"And  we  didn't  either  of  us  think  we'd  come  down  from 
eighteen  miles  a  day  to  six,"  returned  the  Colonel,  a  little  molli- 

259 


THE    MAGNETIC   NORTH 

fied  by  any  sort  of  answer.  "I  don't  believe  we're  going  to  put 
this  job  through." 

Now  this  was  treason. 

Any  trail-man  may  think  that  twenty  times  a  day,  but  no 
one  ought  to  say  it.  The  Boy  set  his  teeth,  and  his  eyes  closed. 
The  whole  thing  was  suddenly  harder — doubt  of  the  issue  had 
been  born  into  the  world.  But  he  opened  his  eyes  again.  The 
Colonel  had  carefully  poured  some  of  the  rice  into  the  smoky 
water  of  the  pan.  What  was  the  fool  doing?  Such  a  little 
left,  and  making  a  second  supper? 

Only  that  morning  the  Boy  had  gone  a  long  way  when  men 
tally  he  called  the  boss  of  the  Big  Chimney  Camp  "an  old 
woman."  By  night  he  was  saying  in  his  heart,  "The  Colonel's 
a  fool."  His  pardner  caught  the  look  that  matched  the  thought. 

"No  more  second  helpin's,"  he  said  in  self-defence;  "this'll 
freeze  into  cakes  for  luncheon." 

No  answer.  No  implied  apology  for  that  look.  In  the  tone 
his  pardner  had  come  to  dread  the  Colonel  began:  "If  we  don't 
strike  a  settlement  to-morrow " 

"Don't  talk/" 

The  Boy's  tired  arm  fell  on  the  handle  of  the  frying-pan. 
Over  it  went — rice,  water,  and  all  in  the  fire.  The  culprit 
sprang  up  speechless  with  dismay,  enraged  at  the  loss  of  the 
food  he  was  hungry  for — enraged  at  "the  fool  fry-pan" — en 
raged  at  the  fool  Colonel  for  balancing  it  so  badly. 

A  column  of  steam  and  smoke  rose  into  the  frosty  air  between 
the  two  men.  As  it  cleared  away  a  little  the  Boy  could  see  the 
Colonel's  bloodshot  eyes.  The  expression  was  ill  to  meet. 

When  they  crouched  down  again,  with  the/damped-out  fire 
between  them,  a  sense  of  utter  loneliness  fell  upon  each  man's 
heart. 


The  next  morning,  when  they  came  to  digging  the  sled  out 
of  the  last  night's  snow-drift,  the  Boy  found  to  his  horror  that 
he  was  weaker — yes,  a  good  deal.  As  they  went  on  he  kept 
stumbling.  The  Colonel  fell  every  now  and  then.  Sometimes 
he  would  lie  still  before  he  could  pull  himself  on  his  legs  again. 

In  these  hours  they  saw  nothing  of  the  grim  and  splendid 
waste;  nothing  of  the  ranks  of  snow-laden  trees;  nothing  of 
sun  course  or  of  stars,  only  the  half-yard  of  dazzling  trail  in 
front  of  them,  and — clairvoyant — the  little  store  of  flour  and 

260 


THE   PIT 

bacon  that  seemed  to  shrink  in  the  pack  while  they  dragged 
it  on. 

Apart  from  partial  snow-blindness,  which  fell  at  intervals 
upon  the  Colonel,  the  tiredness  of  the  eyes  was  like  a  special 
sickness  upon  them  both.  For  many  hours  together  they  never 
raised  their  lids,  looking  out  through  slits,  cat-like,  on  the  world. 

They  had  not  spoken  to  each  other  for  many  days — or  was 
it  only  hours? — when  the  Colonel,  looking  at  the  Boy,  said: 

"You've  got  to  have  a  face-guard.  Those  frostbites  are 
eating  in." 

"  'Xpect  so." 

"You  ought  to  stop  it.    Make  a  guard." 

"Out  of  a  snow-ball,  or  chunk  o'  ice?" 

"Cut  a  piece  out  o'  the  canvas  o'  the  bag."    But  he  didn't. 

The  big  sores  seemed  such  small  matters  beside  the  vast 
overshadowing  doubt,  Shall  we  come  out  of  this  alive? — doubt 
never  to  be  openly  admitted  by  him,  but  always  knocking, 
knocking 

"You  can't  see  your  own  face,"  the  Colonel  persisted. 

"One  piece  o'  luck,  anyhow." 

The  old  habit  of  looking  after  the  Boy  died  hard.  The 
Colonel  hesitated.  For  the  last  time  he  would  remonstrate. 
"I  used  to  think  frostbite  was  a  figure  o'  speech,"  said  he,  "but 
the  teeth  were  set  in  your  face,  sonny,  and  they've  bitten  deep; 
they'll  leave  awful  scars." 

"Battles  do,  I  b'lieve."  And  it  was  with  an  effort  that  he 
remembered  there  had  been  a  time  when  they  had  been  un 
comfortable  because  they  hadn't  washed  their  faces.  Now,  one 
man  was  content  to  let  the  very  skin  go  if  he  could  keep  the 
flesh  on  his  face,  and  one  was  little  concerned  even  for  that. 
Life — life!  To  push  on  and  come  out  alive. 

The  Colonel  had  come  to  that  point  where  he  resented  the 
Boy's  staying  power,  terrified  at  the  indomitable  young  life  in 
him.  Yes,  the  Colonel  began  to  feel  old,  and  to  think  with 
vague  wrath  of  the  insolence  of  youth. 

Each  man  fell  to  considering  what  he  would  do,  how  he 
would  manage  if  he  were  alone.  And  there  ceased  to  be  any 
terror  in  the  thought. 

"If  it  wasn't  for  him" — so  and  so;  till  in  the  gradual  dead 
ening  of  judgment  all  the  hardship  was  somehow  your  pardner's 
fault.  Your  nerves  made  him  responsible  even  for  the  snow 
and  the  wind.  By-and-by  he  was  The  Enemy.  Not  but  what 

261 


THE   MAGNETIC   NORTH 

each  had  occasional  moments  of  lucidity,  and  drew  back  from 
the  pit  they  were  bending  over.  But  the  realisation  would  fade. 
No  longer  did  even  the  wiser  of  the  two  remember  that  this 
is  that  same  abyss  out  of  which  slowly,  painfully,  the  race  has 
climbed.  With  the  lessened  power  to  keep  from  falling  in, 
the  terror  of  it  lessened.  Many  strange  things  grew  natural. 
It  was  no  longer  difficult  or  even  shocking  to  conceive  one's 
partner  giving  out  and  falling  by  the  way.  Although  playing 
about  the  thought,  the  one  thing  that  not  even  the  Colonel  was 
able  actually  to  realise,  was  the  imminent  probability  of  death 
for  himself.  Imagination  always  pictured  the  other  fellow 
down,  one's  self  somehow  forging  ahead. 

This  obsession  ended  on  the  late  afternoon  when  the  Colonel 
broke  silence  by  saying  suddenly : 

"We  must  camp;  I'm  done."  He  flung  himself  down  under 
a  bare  birch,  and  hid  his  face. 

The  Boy  remonstrated,  grew  angry;  then,  with  a  huge  effort 
at  self-control,  pointed  out  that  since  it  had  stopped  snowing 
this  was  the  very  moment  to  go  on. 

"Why,  you  can  see  the  sun.    Three  of  'em!    Look,  Colonel!" 

But  Arctic  meteorological  phenomena  had  long  since  ceased 
to  interest  the  Kentuckian.  Parhelia  were  less  to  him  than 
covered  eyes,  and  the  perilous  peace  of  the  snow.  It  seemed 
a  long  time  before  he  sat  up,  and  began  to  beat  the  stiffness  out 
of  his  hands  against  his  breast.  But  when  he  spoke,  it  was 
only  to  say: 

"I  mean  to  camp." 

"For  how  long?" 

"Till  a  team  comes  by — or  something." 

The  Boy  got  up  abruptly,  slipped  on  his  snow-shoes,  and 
went  round  the  shoulder  of  the  hill,  and  up  on  to  the  promon 
tory,  to  get  out  of  earshot  of  that  voice,  and  determine  which 
of  the  two  ice-roads,  stretching  out  before  them,  was  main 
channel  and  which  was  tributary. 

He  found  on  the  height  only  a  cutting  wind,  and  little  en 
lightenment  as  to  the  true  course.  North  and  east  all  nimbus 
still.  A  brace  of  sun-dogs  following  the  pale  God  of  Day 
across  the  narrow  field  of  primrose  that  bordered  the  dun- 
coloured  west.  There  would  be  more  snow  to-morrow,  and 
meanwhile  the  wind  was  rising  again.  Yes,  sir,  it  was  a  mean 
outlook. 

As  he  took  Mac's  aneroid  barometer  out  of  his  pocket,  a 

262 


THE   PIT 

sudden  gust  cut  across  his  raw  and  bleeding  cheek.  He  turned 
abruptly;  the  barometer  slipped  out  of  his  numb  fingers.  He 
made  a  lunge  to  recover  it,  clutched  the  air,  and,  sliding  sud 
denly  forward,  over  he  went,  flying  headlong  down  the  steep 
escarpment. 

He  struck  a  jutting  rock,  only  half  snowed  under,  that  broke 
the  sheer  face  of  the  promontory,  and  he  bounded  once  like 
a  rubber  ball,  struck  a  second  time,  caught  desperately  at  a 
solitary  clump  of  ice-sheathed  alders,  crashed  through  the  snow- 
crust  just  below  them,  and  was  held  there  like  a  mudlark  in  its 
cliff  nest,  halfway  between  bluff  and  river. 

His  last  clear  thought  had  been  an  intense  anxiety  about  his- 
snow-shoes  as  they  sailed  away,  two  liberated  kites,  but  as  he 
went  on  falling,  clutching  at  the  air — falling — and  felt  the 
alder  twigs  snap  under  his  hands,  he  said  to  himself,  "This  is 
death,"  but  calmly,  as  if  it  were  a  small  matter  compared  to 
losing  one's  snow-shoes. 

It  was  only  when  he  landed  in  the  snow,  that  he  was  con 
scious  of  any  of  the  supposed  natural  excitement  of  a  man  meet 
ing  a  violent  end.  It  was  then,  before  he  even  got  Tiis  breath 
back,  that  he  began  to  struggle  frantically  to  get  a  foothold ; 
but  he  only  broke  down  more  of  the  thin  ice-wall  that  kept 
him  from  the  sheer  drop  to  the  river,  sixty  or  seventy  feet  be 
low.  He  lay  quite  still.  Would  the  Colonel  come  after  him  ? 

If  he  did  come,  would  he  risk  his  life  to If  he  did  risk 

his  life,  was  it  any  use  to  try  to He  craned  his  neck  and 

looked  up,  blinked,  shut  his  eyes,  and  lay  back  in  the  snow 
with  a  sound  of  far-off  singing  in  his  head.  "Any  use?"  No, 
sir;  it  just  about  wasn't.  That  bluff  face  would  be  easier  to 
climb  up  than  to  climb  down,  and  either  was  impossible. 

Then  it  was,  that  a  great  tide  of  longing  swept  over  him — 
a  flood  of  passionate  desire  for  more  of  this  doubtful  blessing, 
life.  All  the  bitter  hardship — why,  how  sweet  it  was,  after  all, 
to  battle  and  to  overcome!  It  was  only  this  lying  helpless, 
trapped,  that  was  evil.  The  endless  Trail  ?  Why,  it  was  only 
the  coming  to  the  end  that  a  man  minded. 

Suddenly  the  beauty  that  for  days  had  been  veiled  shone  out. 
Nothing  in  all  the  earth  was  glorious  with  the  glory  of  the 
terrible  white  North.  And  he  had  only  just  been  wakened  to 
it.  Here,  now,  lying  in  his  grave,  had  come  this  special  revela 
tion  of  the  rapture  of  living,  and  the  splendour  of  the  visible 
universe. 

263 


THE   MAGNETIC   NORTH 

The  sky  over  his  head — he  had  called  it  "a  mean  outlook," 
and  turned  away.  It  was  the  same  sky  that  bent  over  him 
now  with  a  tenderness  that  made  him  lift  his  cramped  arms 
with  tears,  as  a  sick  child  might  to  its  mother.  The  haloed  sun 
with  his  attendant  dogs — how  little  the  wonder  had  touched 
him !  Never  had  he  seen  them  so  dim  and  sad  as  to-night  .  .  . 
saying  good-bye  to  one  who  loved  the  sun. 

The  great  frozen  road  out  of  sight  below,  road  that  came 
winding,  winding  down  out  of  the  Arctic  Circle — what  other 
highway  so  majestic,  mysterious? — shining  and  beckoning  on. 
An  earthly  Milky  Way,  leading  to  the  golden  paradise  he  had 
been  travelling  towards  since  summer. 

And  he  was  to  go  no  further? not  till  the  June  rains 

and  thaws  and  winds  and  floods  should  carry  him  back,  as  he 
had  foreseen,  far  below  there  at  Holy  Cross. 

With  a  sharp  contraction  of  the  heart  he  shut  his  eyes  again. 
When  he  opened  them  they  rested  on  the  alder-twig,  a  couple 
of  yards  above,  holding  out  mocking  finger-tips,  and  he  turned 
his  head  in  the  snow  till  again  he  could  see  the  mock-suns 
looking  down. 

"As  well  try  to  reach  the  sky  as  reach  the  alder-bush.  What 
did  that  mean?  That  he  was  really  going  to  lie  there  till  he 
died?  He  die,  and  the  Colonel  and  everybody  else  go  on 
living? 

He  half  rose  on  his  elbow  at  the  monstrous  absurdity  of  the 
idea.  "I  won't  die!"  he  said  out  loud. 

Crack,  crack!  warned  the  ice-crust  between  him  and  that 
long  fall  to  the  river.  With  horror  at  his  heart  he  shrank  away 
and  hugged  the  face  of  the  precipice.  Presently  he  put  out  his 
hand  and  broke  the  ice-crust  above.  With  mittened  fists  anfl 
palms  he  pounded  firm  a  little  ledge  of  snow.  Reaching  out 
further,  he  broke  the  crust  obliquely  just  above,  and  having 
packed  the  snow  as  well  as  he  could  immediately  about,  and 
moving  lengthwise  with  an  infinite  caution,  he  crawled  up  the 
few  inches  to  the  narrow  ledge,  balancing  his  stiff  body  with 
a  nicety  possible  only  to  acrobat  or  sleep-walker. 

It  was  in  no  normal  state  of  ordinary  waking  senses  that 
the  work  went  on — with  never  a  downward  look,  nor  even  up, 
eyes  riveted  to  the  patch  of  snow  on  which  the  mittened  hands 
fell  as  steady  and  untrembling  as  steel  hammers.  In  the  sec 
onds  of  actual  consciousness  of  his  situation  that  twice  visited 
him,  he  crouched  on  the  ledge  with  closed  eyes,  in  the  clutch 

264 


THE   PIT 

of  an  overmastering  horror,  absolutely  still,  like  a  bird  in  the 
talons  of  a  hawk.  Each  time  when  he  opened  his  eyes  he  would 
stare  at  the  snow-ledge  till  hypnotised  into  disregard  of  dan 
ger,  balance  his  slight  body,  lift  one  hand,  and  go  on  pounding 
firm  another  shallow  step.  When  he  reached  the  alder-bush 
his  heart  gave  a  great  leap  of  triumph.  Then,  for  the  first  time 
since  starting,  he  looked  up.  His  heart  fell  down.  It  seemed 
farther  than  ever,  and  the  light  waning. 

But  the  twilight  would  be  long,  he  told  himself,  and  in  that 
other,  beneficent  inner  twilight  he  worked  on,  packing  the  snow, 
and  crawling  gingerly  up  the  perilous  stair  a  half-inch  at  a  time. 

At  last  he  was  on  the  jutting  rock,  and  could  stand  secure. 
But  here  he  could  see  that  the  top  of  the  bluff  really  did  shelve 
over.  To  think  so  is  so  common  an  illusion  to  the  climber  that 
the  Boy  had  heartened  himself  by  saying,  when  he  got  there 
he  would  find  it  like  the  rest,  horribly  steep,  but  not  impossible. 
Well,  it  was  impossible.  After  all  his  labour,  he  was  no  bet 
ter  off  on  the  rock  than  in  the  snow-hole  below  the  alder,  down 
there  where  he  dared  not  look.  The  sun  and  his  dogs  had 
travelled  down,  down.  They  touched  the  horizon  while  he  sat 
there;  they  slipped  below  the  world's  wide  rim.  He  said  in  his 
heart,  "I'm  freezing  to  death."  Unexpectedly  to  himself  his 
despair  found  voice: 

"Colonel!" 

"Hello!" 

He  started  violently. 

Had  he  really  heard  that,  or  was  imagination  playing  tricks 
with  echo? 

"Colonel!" 

"Where  the  devil " 

A  man's  head  appeared  out  of  the  sky. 

"Got  the  rope?" 

Words  indistinguishable  floated  down — the  head  withdrawn 
— silence.  The  Boy  waited  a  very  long  time,  but  he  stamped 
his  feet,  and  kept  his  blood  in  motion.  The  light  was  very 
grey  when  the  head  showed  again  at  the  sky-line.  He  couldn't 
hear  what  was  shouted  down,  and  it  occurred  to  him,  even  in 
his  huge  predicament,  that  the  Colonel  was  "giving  him  hot 
air"  as  usual,  instead  of  a  life-line.  Down  the  rope  came, 
nearer,  and  stopped  about  fifteen  feet  over  his  head. 

"Got  the  axe?     Let  her  down." 

******* 

265 


THE    MAGNETIC    NORTH 

The  night  was  bright  with  moonlight  when  the  Boy  stood 
again  on  the  top  of  the  bluff. 

"Humph!"  says  the  Colonel,  with  agreeable  anticipation; 
"you'll  be  glad  to  camp  for  a  few  days  after  this,  I  reckon." 

"Reckon  I  won't." 


In  their  colossal  fatigue  they  slept  the  clock  round;  their 
watches  run  down,  their  sense  of  the  very  date  blurred.  Since 
the  Colonel  had  made  the  last  laconic  entry  in  the  journal — 
was  it  three  days  or  two — or  twenty? 

In  spite  of  a  sensation  as  of  many  broken  bones,  the  Boy  put 
on  the  Colonel's  snow-shoes,  and  went  off  looking  along  the 
foot  of  the  cliff  for  his  own.  No  luck,  but  he  brought  back 
some  birch-bark  and  a  handful  of  willow-withes,  and  set  about 
making  a  rude  substitute. 

Before  they  had  despatched  breakfast  the  great  red  moon 
arose,  so  it  was  not  morning,  but  evening.  So  much  the  better. 
The  crust  would  be  firmer.  The  moon  was  full;  it  was  bright 
enough  to  travel,  and  travel  they  must. 

"No!"  said  the  Colonel,  with  a  touch  of  his  old  pompous 
authority,  "we'll  wait  awhile." 

The  Boy  simply  pointed  to  the  flour-bag.  There  wasn't  a 
good  handful  left. 

They  ate  supper,  studiously  avoiding  each  other's  eyes.  In 
the  background  of  the  Boy's  mind:  "He  saved  my  life,  but  he 
ran  no  risk.  .  .  .  And  I  saved  his.  We're  quits."  In  the 
Colonel's,  vague,  insistent,  stirred  the  thought,  "I  might  have 
left  him  there  to  rot,  half-way  up  the  precipice.  Oh,  he'd  go! 
And  he'd  take  the  sled!  No!"  His  vanished  strength  flowed 
back  upon  a  tide  of  rage.  Only  one  sleeping-bag,  one  kettle, 
one  axe,  one  pair  of  snow-shoes  .  .  .  one  gun!  No,  by  the 
living  Lord !  not  while  I  have  a  gun.  Where's  my  gun  ?"  He 
looked  about  guiltily,  under  his  lowered  lids.  What?  No! 
Yes !  It  was  gone !  Who  packed  at  the  last  camp  ?  Why,  he 
-—himself,  and  he'd  left  it  behind.  "Then  it  was  because  I 
didn't  see  it ;  the  Boy  took  care  I  shouldn't  see  it !  Very  likely 
he  buried  it  so  that  I  shouldn't  see  it !  He — yes — if  I  refuse  to 
go  on,  he " 

And  the  Boy,  seeing  without  looking,  taking  in  every  move, 
every  shade  in  the  mood  of  the  broken-spirited  man,  ready  to 
die  here,  like  a  dog,  in  the  snow,  instead  of  pressing  on  as  long 

266 


THE    PIT 

as  he  could  crawl — the  Boy,  in  a  fever  of  silent  rage,  called 
him  that  "meanest  word  in  the  language — a  quitter."  And  as, 
surreptitiously,  he  took  in  the  vast  discouragement  of  the  older 
man,  there  was  nothing  in  the  Boy's  changed  heart  to  say, 
"Poor  fellow!  if  he  can't  go  on,  I'll  stay  and  die  with  him"; 
but  only,  "He's  got  to  go  on!  .  .  .  and  if  he  refuses  .  .  . 

well "     He  felt  about  in  his  deadened  brain,  and  the  best 

he  could  bring  forth  was:  "I  won't  leave  him — yet" 


A  mighty  river- jam  had  forced  them  up  on  the  low  range  of 
hills.  It  was  about  midnight  to  judge  by  the  moon — clear  of 
snow  and  the  wind  down.  The  Boy  straightened  up  at  a  curi 
ous  sight  just  below  them.  Something  black  in  the  moonlight. 
The  Colonel  paused,  looked  down,  and  passed  his  hand  over 
his  eyes. 

The  Boy  had  seen  the  thing  first,  and  had  said  to  himself, 
"Looks  like  a  sled,  but  it's  a  vision.  It's  come  to  seeing  things 
now." 

When  he  saw  the  Colonel  stop  and  stare,  he  threw  down  his 
rope  and  began  to  laugh,  for  there  below  were  the  blackened 
remains  of  a  big  fire,  silhouetted  sharply  on  the  snow. 

"Looks  like  we've  come  to  a  camp,  Boss!" 

He  hadn't  called  the  Colonel  by  the  old  nickname  for  many 
a  day.  He  stood  there  laughing  in  an  idiotic  kind  of  way, 
wrapping  his  stiff  hands  in  his  parki,  Indian  fashion,  and  look 
ing  down  to  the  level  of  the  ancient  river  terrace,  where  the 
weather-stained  old  Indian  sled  was  sharply  etched  on  the 
moonlit  whiteness. 

Just  a  sled  lying  in  the  moonlight.  But  the  change  that  can 
be  wrought  in  a  man's  heart  upon  sight  of  a  human  sign!  it 
may  be  idle  to  speak  of  that  to  any  but  those  who  have  travelled 
the  desolate  ways  of  the  North. 

Side  by  side  the  two  went  down  the  slope,  slid  and  slipped 
and  couldn't  stop  themselves,  till  they  were  below  the  land 
mark.  Looking  up,  they  saw  that  a  piece  of  soiled  canvas  or  a 
skin,  held  down  with  a  drift-log,  fell  from  under  the  sled, 
portiere-wise  from  the  top  of  the  terrace,  straight  down  to  the 
sheltered  level,  where  the  camp  fire  had  been.  Coming  closer, 
they  saw  the  curtain  was  not  canvas,  but  dressed  deerskin. 

"Indians!"  said  the  Colonel. 

But  with  the  rubbing  out  of  other  distinctions  this,  too,  was 

267 


THE   MAGNETIC   NORTH 

curiously  faint.  Just  so  there  were  human  beings  it  seemed 
enough.  Within  four  feet  of  the  deerskin  door  the  Colonel 
stopped,  shot  through  by  a  sharp  misgiving.  What  was  be 
hind  ?  A  living  man's  camp,  or  a  dead  man's  tomb  ?  Succour, 
or  some  stark  picture  of  defeat,  and  of  their  own  oncoming 
doom? 

The  Colonel  stood  stock-still  waiting  for  the  Boy.  For  the 
first  time  in  many  days  even  he  hung  back.  He  seemed  to  lack 
the  courage  to  be  the  one  to  extinguish  hope  by  the  mere  draw 
ing  of  a  curtain  from  a  snow-drift's  face.  The  Kentuckian 
pulled  himself  together  and  went  forward.  He  lifted  his  hand 
to  the  deerskin,  but  his  fingers  shook  so  he  couldn't  take  hold: 

"Hello!"  he  called.     No  sound.    Again:  "Hello!" 

"Who's  there?" 

The  two  outside  turned  and  looked  into  each  other's  faces — 
but  if  you  want  to  know  all  the  moment  meant,  you  must 
travel  the  Winter  Trail. 


268 


CHAPTER   XIV 

KURILLA 

"And  I  swear  to  you  Athenians — by  the  dog  I  swear! — for  I  must  tell 
you  the  truth ." — SOCRATES. 

THE  voice  that  had  asked  the  question  belonged  to  one  of 
two  stranded  Klondykers,  as  it  turned  out,  who  had  bur 
rowed  a  hole  in  the  snow  and  faced  it  with  drift-wood. 
They  had  plenty  of  provisions,  enough  to  spare,  and  meant  to 
stay  here  till  the  steamers  ran,  for  the  younger  of  the  pair  had 
frosted  his  feet  and  was  crippled. 

The  last  of  their  dogs  had  been  frozen  to  death  a  few  miles 
back  on  the  trail,  and  they  had  no  idea,  apparently,  how  near 
they  were  to  that  "first  Indian  settlement  this  side  of  Kaltag" 
reached  by  the  Colonel  and  the  Boy  after  two  days  of  rest  and 
one  day  of  travel. 

No  one  ever  sailed  more  joyfully  into  the  Bay  of  Naples,  or 
saw  with  keener  rapture  Constantinople's  mosques  and  minarets 
arise,  than  did  these  ice-armoured  travellers,  rounding  the  sharp 
bend  in  the  river,  sight  the  huts  and  hear  the  dogs  howl  on  the 
farther  shore. 

"First  thing  I  do,  sah,  is  to  speculate  in  a  dog-team,"  said 
the  Colonel. 

Most  of  the  bucks  were  gone  off  hunting,  and  most  of  the 
dogs  were  with  them.  Only  three  left  in  the  village — but  they 
were  wonderful  fellows  those  three!  Where  were  they?  Well, 
the  old  man  you  see  before  you,  "me — got  two." 

He  led  the  way  behind  a  little  shack,  a  troop  of  children 
following,  and  there  were  two  wolf-dogs,  not  in  the  best  con 
dition,  one  reddish,  with  a  white  face  and  white  forelegs,  the 
other  grey  with  a  black  splotch  on  his  chest  and  a  white  one 
on  his  back. 

"How  much?" 

"Fiftee  dolla." 

"And  this  one?" 

269 


THE   MAGNETIC   NORTH 

"Fiftee  dolla."  As  the  Colonel  hesitated,  the  old  fellow 
added:  "Bohf  eightee  dolla." 

"Oh,  eightee  for  the  two?" 

He  nodded. 

"Well,  where's  the  other?" 

"Hein?" 

"The  other — the  third  dog.    Two  are  no  good." 

"Yes.    Yes,"  he  said  angrily,  "heap  good  dog." 

"Well,  I'll  give  you  eighty  dollars  for  these"  (the  Ingalik, 
taking  a  pipe  out  of  his  parki,  held  out  one  empty  hand)  ;  "but 
who's  got  the  other?" 

For  answer,  a  head-shake,  the  outstretched  hand,  and  the 
words,  "Eightee  dolla — tabak — tea." 

"Wait,"  interrupted  the  Boy,  turning  to  the  group  of  chil 
dren;  "where's  the  other  dog?" 

Nobody  answered.  The  Boy  pantomimed.  "We  want  three 
dogs."  He  held  up  as  many  ringers.  "We  got  two — see? — 
must  have  one  more."  A  lad  of  about  thirteen  turned  and 
began  pointing  with  animation  towards  a  slowly  approaching 
figure. 

"Peetka— him  got." 

The  old  man  began  to  chatter  angrily,  and  abuse  the  lad  for 
introducing  a  rival  on  the  scene.  The  strangers  hailed  the  new 
comer. 

"How  much  is  your  dog?" 

Peetka  stopped,  considered,  studied  the  scene  immediately 
before  him,  and  then  the  distant  prospect. 

"You  got  dog?" 

He  nodded. 

"Well,  how  much?" 

"Sixty  dolla." 

"One  dog,  sixty?" 

He  nodded. 

"But  this  man  says  the  price  is  eighty  for  two." 

"My  dog— him  Leader." 

After  some  further  conversation,  "Where  is  your  dog?"  de 
manded  the  Colonel. 

The  new-comer  whistled  and  called.  After  some  waiting, 
and  well-simulated  anger  on  the  part  of  the  owner,  along  comes 
a  dusky  Siwash,  thin,  but  keen-looking,  and  none  too  mild- 
tempered. 

270 


KURILLA 

The  children  all  brightened  and  craned,  as  if  a  friend,  or  at 
least  a  highly  interesting  member  of  the  community,  had  ap 
peared  on  the  scene. 

"The  Nigger's  the  best!"  whispered  the  Boy. 

"Him  bully,"  said  the  lad,  and  seemed  about  to  pat  him,  but 
the  Siwash  snarled  softly,  raising  his  lip  and  showing  his  gleam 
ing  fangs.  The  lad  stepped  back  respectfully,  but  grinned, 
reiterating,  "Bully  dog." 

"Well,  I'll  give  you  fifty  for  him,"  said  the  Colonel. 

"Sixty." 

"Well,  all  right,  since  he's  a  leader.     Sixty." 

The  owner  watched  the  dog  as  it  walked  round  its  master 
smelling  the  snow,  then  turning  up  its  pointed  nose  interroga 
tively  and  waving  its  magnificent  feathery  tail.  The  oblique 
eyes,  acute  angle  of  his  short  ears,  the  thick  neck,  broad  chest, 
and  heavy  forelegs,  gave  an  impression  of  mingled  alertness 
and  strength  you  will  not  see  surpassed  in  any  animal  that 
walks  the  world.  Jet-black,  except  for  his  grey  muzzle  and 
broad  chest,  he  looks  at  you  with  the  face  of  his  near  ancestor, 
the  grizzled  wolf.  If  on  short  acquaintance  you  offer  any 
familiarity,  as  the  Colonel  ventured  to  do,  and  he  shows  his 
double  row  of  murderous-looking  fangs,  the  reminder  of  his 
fierce  forefathers  is  even  more  insistent.  Indeed,  to  this  day 
your  Siwash  of  this  sort  will  have  his  moments  of  nostalgia,  in 
which  he  turns  back  to  his  wild  kinsfolk,  and  mates  again  with 
the  wolf. 

When  the  Leader  looked  at  the  Colonel  with  that  indescrib 
ably  horrid  smile,  the  owner's  approval  of  the  proud  beast 
seemed  to  overcome  his  avarice. 

"Me  no  sell,"  he  decided  abruptly,  and  walked  off  in  lordly 
fashion  with  his  dusky  companion  at  his  side,  the  Leader  curl 
ing  his  feathery  tail  arc-like  over  his  back,  and  walking  with 
an  air  princes  might  envy. 

The  Colonel  stood  staring.  Vainly  the  Boy  called,  "Come 
back.  Look  here!  Hi!"  Neither  Siwash  nor  Ingalik  took 
the  smallest  notice.  The  Boy  went  after  them,  eliciting  only 
airs  of  surly  indifference  and  repeated  "Me  no  sell."  It  was 
a  bitter  disappointment,  especially  to  the  Boy.  He  liked  the 
looks  of  that  Nigger  dog.  When,  plunged  in  gloom,  he  re 
turned  to  the  group  about  the  Colonel,  he  found  his  pardner 
asking  about  "feed."  No,  the  old  man  hadn't  enough  fish  to 
spare  even  a  few  days'  supply.  Would  anybody  here  sell  fish? 

271 


THE   MAGNETIC    NORTH 

No,  he  didn't  think  so.  All  the  men  who  had  teams  were  gone 
to  the  hills  for  caribou;  there  was  nobody  to  send  to  the  Sum 
mer  Caches.  He  held  out  his  hand  again  for  the  first  instal 
ment  of  the  "eightee  dolla,"  in  kind,  that  he  might  put  it  in 
his  pipe. 

"But  dogs  are  no  good  to  us  without  something  to  feed  'em." 

The  Ingalik  looked  round  as  one  seeking  counsel. 

"Get  fish  tomalla." 

"No,  sir.  To-day's  the  only  day  in  my  calendar.  No  buy 
dogs  till  we  get  fish." 

When  the  negotiations  fell  through  the  Indian  took  the  fail 
ure  far  more  philosophically  than  the  white  men,  as  was  natu 
ral.  The  old  fellow  could  quite  well  get  on  without  "eightee 
dolla" — could  even  get  on  without  the  tobacco,  tea,  sugar,  and 
matches  represented  by  that  sum,  but  the  travellers  could  not 
without  dogs  get  to  Minook.  It  had  been  very  well  to  feel 
set  up  because  they  had  done  the  thing  that  everybody  said  was 
impossible.  It  had  been  a  costly  victory.  Yes,  it  had  come 
high.  "And,  after  all,  if  we  don't  get  dogs  we're  beaten." 

"Oh,  beaten  be  blowed!    We'll  toddle  along  somehow." 

"Yes,  we'll  toddle  along  if  we  get  dogs." 

And  the  Boy  knew  the  Colonel  was  right. 

They  inquired  about  Kaltag. 

"I  reckon  we'd  better  push  ahead  while  we  can,"  said  the 
Colonel.  So  they  left  the  camp  that  same  evening  intending  to 
"travel  with  the  moon."  The  settlement  was  barely  out  of 
sight  when  they  met  a  squaw  dragging  a  sled-load  of  salmon. 
Here  was  luck!  "And  now  we'll  go  back  and  get  those  two 
dogs." 

As  it  was  late,  and  trading  with  the  natives,  even  for  a  fish, 
was  a  matter  of  much  time  and  patience,  they  decided  not  to 
hurry  the  dog  deal.  It  was  bound  to  take  a  good  part  of  the 
evening,  at  any  rate.  Well,  another  night's  resting  up  was 
welcome  enough. 

While  the  Colonel  was  re-establishing  himself  in  the  best 
cabin,  the  Boy  cached  the  sled  and  then  went  prowling  about. 
As  he  fully  intended,  he  fell  in  with  the  Leader — that  "bully 
Nigger  dog."  His  master  not  in  sight — nobody  but  some  dirty 
children  and  the  stranger  there  to  see  how  the  Red  Dog,  in  a 
moment  of  aberration,  dared  offer  insolence  to  the  Leader.  It 
all  happened  through  the  Boy's  producing  a  fish,  and  present 
ing  it  on  bended  knee  at  a  respectful  distance.  The  Leader 

272 


KURILLA 

bestowed  a  contemptuous  stare  upon  the  stranger  and  pointedly 
turned  his  back.  The  Red  Dog  came  "loping"  across  the  snow. 
As  he  made  for  the  fish  the  Leader  quietly  headed  him  off, 
pointed  his  sharp  ears,  and  just  looked  the  other  fellow  out  of 
countenance.  Red  said  things  under  his  breath  as  he  turned 
away.  The  more  he  thought  the  situation  over  the  more  he 
felt  himself  outraged.  He  looked  round  over  his  shoulder. 
There  they  still  were,  the  stranger  holding  out  the  fish,  the 
Leader  turning  his  back  on  it,  but  telegraphing  Red  at  the 
same  time  not  to  dare!  It  was  more  than  dog-flesh  could  bear; 
Red  bounded  back,  exploding  in  snarls.  No  sound  out  of  the 
Leader.  Whether  this  unnatural  calm  misled  Red,  he  came  up 
closer,  braced  his  forelegs,  and  thrust  his  tawny  muzzle  almost 
into  the  other  dog's  face,  drew  back  his  lips  from  all  those  shin 
ing  wicked  teeth,  and  uttered  a  muffled  hiss. 

Well,  it  was  magnificently  done,  and  it  certainly  looked  as 
if  the  Leader  was  going  to  have  a  troubled  evening.  But  he 
didn't  seem  to  think  so.  He  "fixed"  the  Red  Dog  as  one  know 
ing  the  power  of  the  master's  eye  to  quell.  Red's  reply,  un 
imaginably  bold,  was,  as  the  Boy  described  it  to  the  Colonel, 
"to  give  the  other  fella  the  curse."  The  Boy  was  proud  of 
Red's  pluck — already  looking  upon  him  as  his  own — but  he 
jumped  up  from  his  ingratiating  attitude,  still  grasping  the 
dried  fish.  It  would  be  a  shame  if  that  Leader  got  chewed 
up!  And  there  was  Red,  every  tooth  bared,  gasping  for  gore, 
and  with  each  passing  second  seeming  to  throw  a  deeper  dam 
nation  into  his  threat,  and  to  brace  himself  more  firmly  for 
the  hurling  of  the  final  doom. 

At  that  instant,  the  stranger  breathing  quick  and  hard,  the 
elder  children  leaning  forward,  some  of  the  younger  drawing 
back  in  terror — if  you'll  believe  it,  the  Leader  blinked  in  a 
bored  way,  and  sat  down  on  the  snow.  A  question  only  of  last 
moments  now,  poor  brute !  and  the  bystanders  held  their  breath. 
But  no!  Red,  to  be  sure,  broke  into  the  most  awful  demon 
strations,  and  nearly  burst  himself  with  fury;  but  he  backed 
away,  as  though  the  spectacle  offered  by  the  Leader  were  too 
disgusting  for  a  decent  dog  to  look  at.  He  went  behind  the 
shack  and  told  the  Spotty  One.  In  no  time  they  were  back, 
approaching  the  Boy  and  the  fish  discreetly  from  behind.  Such 
mean  tactics  roused  the  Leader's  ire.  He  got  up  and  flew  at 
them.  They  made  it  hot  for  him,  but  still  the  Leader  seemed 
to  be  doing  pretty  well  for  himself,  when  the  old  Ingalik 

273 


THE    MAGNETIC   NORTH 

(whom  the  Boy  had  sent  a  child  to  summon)  hobbled  up  with 
a  raw-hide  whip,  and  laid  it  on  with  a  practised  hand,  sepa 
rating  the  combatants,  kicking  them  impartially  all  round,  and 
speaking  injurious  words. 

"Are  your  two  hurt?"  inquired  the  future  owner  anxiously. 

The  old  fellow  shook  his  head. 

"Fur  thick,"  was  the  reassuring  answer;  and  once  more  the 
Boy  realised  that  these  canine  encounters,  though  frequently 
ending  in  death,  often  look  and  sound  much  more  awful  than 
they  are. 

As  the  Leader  feigned  to  be  going  home,  he  made  a  dash  in 
passing  at  the  stranger's  fish.  It  was  held  tight,  and  the  pirate 
got  off  with  only  a  fragment.  Leader  gave  one  swallow  and 
looked  back  to  see  how  the  theft  was  being  taken.  That  sur 
prising  stranger  simply  stood  there  laughing,  and  holding  out 
the  rest  of  a  fine  fat  fish !  Leader  considered  a  moment,  looked 
the  alien  up  and  down,  came  back,  all  on  guard  for  sudden 
rushes,  sly  kicks,  and  thwackings,  to  pay  him  out.  But  noth 
ing  of  the  kind.  The  Nigger  dog  said  as  plain  as  speech  could 
make  it: 

"You  cheechalko  person,  you  look  as  if  you're  actually  offer 
ing  me  that  fish  in  good  faith.  But  I'd  be  a  fool  to  think  so." 

The  stranger  spoke  low  and  quietly. 

They  talked  for  some  time. 

The  owner  of  the  two  had  shuffled  off  home  again,  with 
Spotty  and  Red  at  his  heels. 

The  Leader  came  quite  near,  looking  almost  docile;  but  he 
snapped  suddenly  at  the  fish  with  an  ugly  gleam  of  eye  and 
fang.  The  Boy  nearly  made  the  fatal  mistake  of  jumping,  but 
he  controlled  the  impulse,  and  merely  held  tight  to  what  was 
left  of  the  salmon.  He  stood  quite  still,  offering  it  with  fair 
words.  The  Leader  walked  all  round  him,  and  seemed  with 
difficulty  to  recover  from  his  surprise.  The  Boy  felt  that  they 
were  just  coming  to  an  understanding,  when  up  hurries  Peetka, 
suspicious  and  out  of  sorts. 

"My  dog!"  he  shouted.  "No  sell  white  man  my  dog.  Huh! 
ho — oh  no!"  He  kicked  the  Leader  viciously,  and  drove  him 
home,  abusing  him  all  the  way.  The  wonder  was  that  the 
wolfish  creature  didn't  fly  at  his  master's  throat  and  finish  him. 

Certainly  the  stranger's  sympathies  were  all  with  the  four- 
legged  one  of  the  two  brutes. 

" something  about  the  Leader "  the  Boy  said  sadly, 

274 


KURILLA 

telling  the  Colonel  what  had  happened.     "Well,  sir,  I'd  give 
a  hundred  dollars  to  own  that  dog." 

"So  would  I,"  was  the  dry  rejoinder,  "if  I  were  a  million 
aire  like  you." 

*  ****** 

After  supper,  their  host,  who  had  been  sent  out  to  bring  in 
the  owner  of  Red  and  Spotty,  came  back  saying,  "He  come. 
All  come.  Me  tell — you  from  below  Holy  Cross!"  He 
laughed  and  shook  his  head  in  a  well-pantomimed  incredulity, 
representing  popular  opinion  outside.  Some  of  the  bucks,  he 
added,  who  had  not  gone  far,  had  got  back  with  small  game. 

"And  dogs?" 

"No.     Dogs  in  the  mountains.     Hunt  moose — caribou." 

The  old  Ingalik  came  in,  followed  by  others.  "Some"  of 
the  bucks  ?  There  seemed  no  end  to  the  throng. 

Opposite  the  white  men  the  Indians  sat  in  a  semicircle,  with 
the  sole  intent,  you  might  think,  of  staring  all  night  at  the 
strangers.  Yet  they  had  brought  in  Arctic  hares  and  grouse, 
and  even  a  haunch  of  venison.  But  they  laid  these  things  on 
the  floor  beside  them,  and  sat  with  grave  unbroken  silence  till 
the  strangers  should  declare  themselves.  They  had  also 
brought,  or  permitted  to  follow,  not  only  their  wives  and 
daughters,  but  their  children,  big  and  little. 

Behind  the  semicircle  of  men,  three  or  four  deep,  were 
ranged  the  ranks  of  youth — boys  and  girls  from  six  to  fourteen 
— standing  as  silent  as  their  elders,  but  eager,  watchful,  carry 
ing  king  salmon,  dried  deer-meat,  boot-soles,  thongs  for  snow- 
shoes,  rabbits,  grouse.  A  little  fellow  of  ten  or  eleven  had 
brought  in  the  Red  Dog,  and  was  trying  to  reconcile  him  to 
his  close  quarters.  The  owner  of  Red  and  Spotty  sat  with 
empty  hands  at  the  semicircle's  farthest  end.  But  he  was  the 
capitalist  of  the  village,  and  held  himself  worthily,  yet  not 
quite  with  the  high  and  mighty  unconcern  of  the  owner  of 
the  Leader. 

Peetka  came  in  late,  bringing  in  the  Nigger  dog  against  the 
Nigger  dog's  will,  just  to  tantalise  the  white  men  with  the 
sight  of  something  they  couldn't  buy  from  the  poor  Indian. 
Everybody  made  way  for  Peetka  and  his  dog,  except  the  other 
dog.  Several  people  had  to  go  to  the  assistance  of  the  little 
boy  to  help  him  to  hold  Red. 

"Just  as  well,  perhaps,"  said  the  Colonel,  "that  we  aren't 
likely  to  get  all  three." 

275 


THE    MAGNETIC    NORTH 

"Oh,  if  they  worked  together  they'd  be  all  right,"  answered 
the  Boy.  "I've  noticed  that  before."  But  the  Leader,  mean 
while,  was  flatly  refusing  to  stay  in  the  same  room  with  Red. 
He  howled  and  snapped  and  raged.  So  poor  Red  was  turned 
out,  and  the  little  boy  mourned  loudly. 

Behind  the  children,  a  row  of  squaws  against  the  wall,  with 
and  without  babies  strapped  at  their  backs.  Occasionally  a 
young  girl  would  push  aside  those  in  front  of  her,  craning  and 
staring  to  take  in  the  astonishing  spectacle  of  the  two  white 
men  who  had  come  so  far  without  dogs — pulling  a  hand-sled 
a  greater  distance  than  any  Indian  had  ever  done — if  they  could 
be  believed! 

Anyhow,  these  men  with  their  sack  of  tea  and  magnificent 
bundle  of  matches,  above  all  with  their  tobacco — they  could 
buy  out  the  town — everything  except  Peetka's  dog. 

The  Colonel  and  the  Boy  opened  the  ball  by  renewing  their 
joint  offer  of  eighty  dollars  for  Red  and  Spotty.  Although 
this  had  been  the  old  Ingalik's  own  price,  it  was  discussed  fully 
an  hour  by  all  present  before  the  matter  could  be  considered 
finally  settled,  even  then  the  Colonel  knew  it  was  safest  not 
to  pay  till  just  upon  leaving.  But  he  made  a  little  present  of 
tobacco  in  token  of  satisfactory  arrangement.  The  old  man's 
hands  trembled  excitedly  as  he  pulled  out  his  pipe  and  filled  it. 
The  bucks  round  him,  and  even  a  couple  of  the  women  at  the 
back,  begged  him  for  some.  He  seemed  to  say,  "Do  your  own 
deal;  the  strangers  have  plenty  more." 

By-and-by,  in  spite  of  the  limited  English  of  the  community, 
certain  facts  stood  out:  that  Peetka  held  the  white  man  in 
avowed  detestation,  that  he  was  the  leading  spirit  of  the  place, 
that  they  had  all  been  suffering  from  a  tobacco  famine,  and: 
that  much  might  be  done  by  a  judicious  use  of  Black  Jack  and 
Long  Green.  The  Colonel  set  forth  the  magnificent  gener 
osity  of  which  he  would  be  capable,  could  he  secure  a  good 
Leader.  But  Peetka,  although  he  looked  at  his  empty  pipe 
with  bitterness,  shook  his  head. 

Everybody  in  the  village  would  profit,  the  Colonel  went  on  ; 
everybody  should  have  a  present  if 

Peetka  interrupted  with  a  snarl,  and  flung  out  low  words 
of  contemptuous  refusal. 

The  Leader  waked  from  a  brief  nap  cramped  and  uneasy, 
and  began  to  howl  in  sympathy.  His  master  stood  up,  the 
better  to  deliver  a  brutal  kick.  This  seemed  to  help  the  Leader 

276 


KURILLA 

to  put  up  with  cramp  and  confinement,  just  as  one  great  dis 
comfort  will  help  his  betters  to  forget  several  little  ones.  But 
the  Boy  had  risen  with  angry  eyes.  Very  well,  he  said  im 
pulsively;  if  he  and  his  pardner  couldn't  get  a  third  dog  (two 
were  very  little  good)  they  would  not  stock  fresh  meat  here. 
In  vain  the  Colonel  whispered  admonition.  No,  sir,  they  would 
wait  till  they  got  to  the  next  village. 

"Belly  far,"  said  a  young  hunter,  placing  ostentatiously  in 
front  his  brace  of  grouse. 

"We're  used  to  going  belly  far.  Take  all  your  game  away, 
and  go  home." 

A  sorrowful  silence  fell  upon  the  room.  They  sat  for  some 
time  like  that,  no  one  so  much  as  moving,  till  a  voice  said, 
"We  want  tobacco,"  and  a  general  murmur  of  assent  arose. 
Peetka  roused  himself,  pulled  out  of  his  shirt  a  concave  stone 
and  a  little  woody-looking  knot.  The  Boy  leaned  forward  to 
see  what  it  was.  A  piece  of  dried  fungus — the  kind  you  some 
times  see  on  the  birches  up  here.  Peetka  was  hammering  a 
fragment  of  it  into  powder,  with  his  heavy  clasp-knife,  on  the 
concave  stone.  He  swept  the  particles  into  his  pipe  and  applied 
to  one  of  the  fish-selling  women  for  a  match,  lit  up,  and  lounged 
back  against  the  Leader,  smiling  disagreeably  at  the  strangers. 
A  little  laugh  at  their  expense  went  round  the  room.  Oh,  it 
wasn't  easy  to  get  ahead  of  Peetka!  But  even  if  he  chose  to 
pretend  that  he  didn't  want  cheechalko  tobacco,  it  was  very 
serious — it  was  desperate — to  see  all  that  Black  Jack  going  on 
to  the  next  village.  Several  of  the  hitherto  silent  bucks  remon 
strated  with  Peetka — even  one  of  the  women  dared  raise  her 
voice.  She  had  not  been  able  to  go  for  fish:  where  was  her 
tobacco  and  tea? 

Peetka  burst  into  voluble  defence  of  his  position.  Casting 
occasional  looks  of  disdain  upon  the  strangers,  he  addressed 
most  of  his  remarks  to  the  owner  of  Red  and  Spotty.  Although 
the  Colonel  could  not  understand  a  word,  he  saw  the  moment 
approaching  when  that  person  would  go  back  on  his  bargain. 
With  uncommon  pleasure  he  could  have  throttled  Peetka. 

The  Boy,  to  create  a  diversion,  had  begun  talking  to  a  young 
hunter  in  the  front  row  about  "the  Long  Trail,"  and,  seeing 
that  several  others  craned  and  listened,  he  spoke  louder,  more 
slowly,  dropping  out  all  unnecessary  or  unusual  words.  Very 
soon  he  had  gained  an  audience  and  Peetka  had  lost  one.  As 
the  stranger  went  on  describing  their  experiences  the  whole 

277 


THE    MAGNETIC   NORTH 

room  listened  with  an  attentiveness  that  would  have  been  flat 
tering  had  it  been  less  strongly  dashed  with  unbelief.  From 
beyond  Anvik  they  had  come?  Like  that — with  no  dogs? 
What!  From  below  Koserefsky?  Not  really?  Peetka  grunted 
and  shook  his  head.  Did  they  think  the  Ingaliks  were  chil 
dren  ?  Without  dogs  that  journey  was  impossible.  Low  whis 
pers  and  gruff  exclamations  filled  the  room.  White  men  were 
great  liars.  They  pretended  that  in  their  country  the  bacon 
had  legs,  and  could  run  about,  and  one  had  been  heard  to  say 
he  had  travelled  in  a  thing  like  a  steamboat,  only  it  could  go 
without  water  under  it — ran  over  the  dry  land  on  strips  of 
iron — ran  quicker  than  any  steamer!  Oh,  they  were  awful 
liars.  But  these  two,  who  pretended  they'd  dragged  a  sled  all 
the  way  from  Holy  Cross,  they  were  the  biggest  liars  of  all. 
Just  let  them  tell  that  yarn  to  Unookuk.  They  all  laughed 
at  this,  and  the  name  ran  round  the  room. 

"Who  is  Unookuk?" 

"Him  guide." 

"Him  know." 

"Where  is  him?"  asked  the  Boy. 

"Him  sick." 

But  there  was  whispering  and  consultation.  This  was  evi 
dently  a  case  for  the  expert.  Two  boys  ran  out,  and  the  native 
talk  went  on,  unintelligible  save  for  the  fact  that  it  centred 
round  Unookuk.  In  a  few  minutes  the  boys  came  back  with 
a  tall,  fine-looking  native,  about  sixty  years  old,  walking  lame, 
and  leaning  on  a  stick.  The  semicircle  opened  to  admit  him. 
He  limped  over  to  the  strangers,  and  stood  looking  at  them 
gravely,  modestly,  but  with  careful  scrutiny. 

The  Boy  held  out  his  hand. 

"How  do  you  do?" 

"How  do  you  do?"  echoed  the  new-comer,  and  he  also  shook 
hands  with  the  Colonel  before  he  sat  down. 

"Are  you  Unookuk?" 

"Yes.     How  far  you  come?" 

Peetka  said  something  rude,  before  the  strangers  had  time 
to  answer,  and  all  the  room  went  into  titters.  But  Unookuk 
listened  with  dignity  while  the  Colonel  repeated  briefly  the 
story  already  told.  Plainly  it  stumped  Unookuk. 

"Come  from  Anvik?"  he  repeated. 

"Yes;  stayed  with  Mr.  Benham." 

"Oh,  Benham!"    The  trader's  familiar  name  ran  round  the 

278 


KURILLA 

room  with  obvious  effect.  "It  is  good  to  have  A.  C.  Agent 
for  friend,"  said  Unookuk  guardedly.  "Everybody  know  Ben- 
ham." 

"He  is  not  A.  C.  Agent  much  longer,"  volunteered  the  Boy. 

"That  so?'\ 

"No;  he  will  go  'on  his  own'  after  the  new  agent  gets  in 
this  spring." 

"It  is  true,"  answered  Unookuk  gravely,  for  the  first  time  a 
little  impressed,  for  this  news  was  not  yet  common  property. 
Still,  they  could  have  heard  it  from  some  passer  with  a  dog- 
team.  The  Boy  spoke  of  Holy  Cross,  and  Unookuk's  grave 
unbelief  was  painted  on  every  feature. 

"It  was  good  you  get  to  Holy  Cross  before  the  big  storm," 
he  said,  with  a  faint  smile  of  tolerance  for  the  white  man's  tall 
story.  But  Peetka  laughed  aloud. 

"What  good  English  you  speak!"  said  the  Boy,  determined 
to  make  friends  with  the  most  intelligent-appearing  native  he 
had  seen. 

"Me;  I  am  Kurilla!"  said  Unookuk,  with  a  quiet  magnifi 
cence.  Then,  seeing  no  electric  recognition  of  the  name,  he 
added:  "You  savvy  Kurilla!" 

The  Colonel  with  much  regret  admitted  that  he  did  not. 

"But  I  am  Ball's  guide— Kurilla." 

"Oh,  Dall's  guide,  are  you,"  said  the  Boy,  without  a  glim 
mer  of  who  Dall  was,  or  for  what,  or  to  what,  he  was 
"guided."  "Well,  Kurilla,  we're  pleased  and  proud  to  meet 
you,"  adding  with  some  presence  of  mind,  "And  how's  Dall?" 

"It  is  long  I  have  not  hear.  We  both  old  now.  I  hurt  my 
knee  on  the  ice  when  I  come  down  from  Nulato  for  caribou." 

"Why  do  you  have  two  names?" 

"Unookuk,  Nulato  name.  My  father  big  Nulato  Shaman. 
Him  killed,  mother  killed,  everybody  killed  in  Koyukuk  mas 
sacre.  They  forget  kill  me.  Me  kid.  Russians  find  Unookuk 
in  big  wood.  Russians  give  food.  I  stay  with  Russians — them 
call  Unookuk  'Kurilla.'  Dall  call  Unookuk  'Kurilla.'  " 

"Dall— Dall,"  said  the  Colonel  to  the  Boy;  "was  that  the 
name  of  the  explorer  fella " 

Fortunately  the  Boy  was  saved  from  need  to  answer. 

"First  white  man  go  down  Yukon  to  the  sea,"  said  Kurilla 
with  pride.  "Me  Dall's  guide." 

"Oh,  wrote  a  book,  didn't  he?  Name's  familiar  somehow," 
said  the  Colonel. 

279 


THE   MAGNETIC   NORTH 

Kurilla  bore  him  out. 

"Mr.  Dall  great  man.  Thirty  year  he  first  come  up  here 
with  Survey  people.  Make  big  overland  tel-ee-grab." 

"Of  course.  I've  heard  about  that."  The  Colonel  turned 
to  the  Boy.  "It  was  just  before  the  Russians  sold  out.  And 
when  a  lot  of  exploring  and  surveying  and  pole-planting  was 
done  here  and  in  Siberia,  the  Atlantic  cable  was  laid  and 
knocked  the  overland  scheme  sky-high." 

Kurilla  gravely  verified  these  facts. 

"And  me,  Dall's  chief  guide.  Me  with  Dall  when  he  make 
portage  from  Unalaklik  to  Kaltag.  He  see  the  Yukon  first 
time.  He  run  down  to  be  first  on  the  ice.  Dall  and  the  coast 
natives  stare,  like  so' — Kurilla  made  a  wild-eyed,  ludicrous  face 
— "and  they  say:  'It  is  not  a  river — it  is  another  sea!'  ' 

"No  wonder.  I  hear  it's  ten  miles  wide  up  by  the  flats,  and 
even  a  little  below  where  we  wintered,  at  Ikogimeut,  it's  four 
miles  across  from  bank  to  bank." 

Kurilla  looked  at  the  Colonel  with  dignified  reproach.  Why 
did  he  go  on  lying  about  his  journey  like  that  to  an  expert? 

"Even  at  Holy  Cross "  the  Boy  began,  but  Kurilla 

struck  in: 

"When  you  there?" 

"Oh,  about  three  weeks  ago." 

Peetka  made  remarks  in  Ingalik. 

"Father  MacManus,  him  all  right?"  asked  Kurilla,  politely 
cloaking  his  cross-examination. 

"MacManus?  Do  you  mean  Wills,  or  the  Superior,  Father 
Brachet?" 

"Oh  yes!  MacManus  at  Tanana."  He  spoke  as  though 
inadvertently  he  had  confused  the  names.  As  the  strangers 
gave  him  the  winter's  news  from  Holy  Cross,  his  wonder  and 
astonishment  grew. 

Presently,  "Do  you  know  my  friend  Nicholas  of  Pymeut?" 
asked  the  Boy. 

Kurilla  took  his  empty  pipe  out  of  his  mouth  and  smiled  in 
broad  surprise.  "Nicholas!"  repeated  several  others.  It  was 
plain  the  Pymeut  pilot  enjoyed  a  wide  repute. 

The  Boy  spoke  of  the  famine  and  Ol'  Chief's  illness. 

"It  is  true,"  said  Unookuk  gravely,  and  turning,  he  added 
something  in  Ingalik  to  the  company.  Peetka  answered  back 
as^surly  as  ever.  But  the  Boy  went  on,  telling  how  the  Sha 
man  had  cured  Ol'  Chief,  and  that  turned  out  to  be  a  surpris- 

280 


KURILLA 

ingly  popular  story.  Peetka  wouldn't  interrupt  it,  even  to 
curse  the  Leader  for  getting  up  and  stretching  himself.  When 
the  dog — feeling  that  for  some  reason  discipline  was  relaxed — 
dared  to  leave  his  cramped  quarters,  and  come  out  into  the 
little  open  space  between  the  white  men  and  the  close-packed 
assembly,  the  Boy  forced  himself  to  go  straight  on  with  his 
story  as  if  he  had  not  observed  the  liberty  the  Leader  was 
taking.  When,  after  standing  there  an  instant,  the  dog  came 
over  and  threw  himself  down  at  the  stranger's  feet  as  if 
publicly  adopting  him,  the  white  story-teller  dared  not  meet 
Peetka's  eye.  He  was  privately  most  uneasy  at  the  Nigger 
dog's  tactless  move,  and  he  hurried  on  about  how  Brother  Paul 
caught  the  Shaman,  and  about  the  Penitential  Journey — told 
how,  long  before  that,  early  in  the  Fall,  Nicholas  had  got  lost, 
making  the  portage  from  St.  Michael's,  and  how  the  white 
camp  had  saved  him  from  starvation ;  how  in  turn  the  Pymeuts 
had  pulled  the  speaker  out  of  a  blow-hole;  what  tremendous 
friends  the  Pymeuts  were  with  these  particular,  very  good  sort 
of  white  men.  Here  he  seemed  to  allow  by  implication  for 
Peetka's  prejudice — there  were  two  kinds  of  pale-face  strangers 
— and  on  an  impulse  he  drew  out  Muckluck's  medal.  He 
would  have  them  to  know,  so  highly  were  these  present  speci 
mens  of  the  doubtful  race  regarded  by  the  Pymeuts — such 
friends  were  they,  that  Nicholas'  sister  had  given  him  this  for 
an  offering  to  Yukon  Inua,  that  the  Great  Spirit  might  help 
them  on  their  way.  He  owned  himself  wrong  to  have  delayed 
this  sacrifice.  He  must  to-morrow  throw  it  into  the  first  blow 
hole  he  came  to — unless  indeed  ...  his  eye  caught  Ku- 
rilla's.  With  the  help  of  his  stick  the  old  Guide  pulled  his 
big  body  up  on  his  one  stout  leg,  hobbled  nearer  and  gravely 
eyed  Muckluck's  offering  as  it  swung  to  and  fro  on  its  walrus- 
string  over  the  Leader's  head.  The  Boy,  quite  conscious  of 
some  subtle  change  in  the  hitherto  immobile  face  of  the  Indian, 
laid  the  token  in  his  hand.  Standing  there  in  the  centre  of  the 
semicircle  between  the  assembly  and  the  dog,  Kurilla  turned 
the  Great  Katharine's  medal  over,  examining  it  closely,  every 
eye  in  the  room  upon  him. 

When  he  lifted  his  head  there  was  a  rustle  of  expectation 
and  a  craning  forward. 

"It  is  the  same."  Kurilla  spoke  slowly  like  one  half  in  a" 
dream.  "When  I  go  down  river,  thirty  winter  back,  with  the 
Great  Dall,  he  try  buy  this  off  Nicholas's  mother.  She  wear 

281 


THE    MAGNETIC    NORTH 

it  on  string  red  Russian  beads.  Oh,  it  is  a  thing  to  remem 
ber!"  He  nodded  his  grey  head  significantly,  but  he  went  on 
with  the  bare  evidence:  "When  John  J.  Healy  make  last  trip 
down  this  fall — Nicholas  pilot  you  savvy — they  let  him  take 
his  sister,  Holy  Cross  to  Pymeut.  I  see  she  wear  this  round 
neck." 

The  weight  of  the  medal  carried  the  raw-hide  necklace  slip 
ping  through  his  fingers.  Slowly  now,  with  even  impulse,  the 
silver  disc  swung  right,  swung  left,  like  the  pendulum  of  a 
clock.  Even  the  Nigger  dog  seemed  hypnotised,  following  the 
dim  shine  of  the  tarnished  token. 

"I  say  Nicholas's  sister:  'It  is  thirty  winters  I  see  that  silver 
picture  first;  I  give  you  two  dolla  for  him.'  She  say  'No.'  I 
say,  'Gi'  fi'  dolla.'  'No.'  I  sit  and  think  far  back — thirty 
winters  back.  'I  gi'  ten  dolla,'  I  say.  She  say,  'I  no  sell;  no 
— not  for  a  hunner' — but  she  give  it  him!  for  to  make  Yukon 
Inua  to  let  him  go  safe.  Hein?  Savvy?"  And  lapsing  into 
Ingalik,  he  endorsed  this  credential  not  to  be  denied. 

"It  is  true,"  he  wound  up  in  English.  The  "Autocratrix 
Russorum"  was  solemnly  handed  back.  "You  have  make  a 
brave  journey.  It  is  I  who  unnerstan' — I,  too,  when  I  am 
young,  I  go  with  Dall  on  the  Long  Trail.  We  had  dogs." 
All  the  while,  from  all  about  the  Leader's  owner,  and  out  of 
every  corner  of  the  crowded  room,  had  come  a  spirited  punc 
tuation  of  Kurilla's  speech — nods  and  grunts.  "Yes,  perhaps 
these  white  men  deserved  dogs — even  Peetka's!" 

Kurilla  limped  back  to  his  place,  but  turned  to  the  Ingaliks 
before  he  sat  down,  and  bending  painfully  over  his  stick,  "Not 
Kurilla,"  he  said^,  as  though  speaking  of  one  absent — "not  Dall 
make  so  great  journey,  no  dogs.  Kurilla?  Best  guide  in 
Yukon^  forty  year.  Kurilla  say:  'Must  have  dogs— men  like 
that!'  '  He  limped  back  again  and  solemnly  offered  his  hand 
to  each  of  the  travellers  in  turn.  "Shake!"  says  he.  Then,  as 
though  fascinated  by  the  silver  picture,  he  dropped  down  by 
the  Boy,  staring  absently  at  the  Great  Katharine's  effigy.  The 
general  murmur  was  arrested  by  a  movement  from  Peetka— 
ne  took  his  pipe  out  of  his  mouth  and  says  he,  handsomely: 

No  liars.  Sell  dog,"  adding,  with  regretful  eye  on  the 
apostate  Leader,  "Him  bully  dog!" 

And  that  was  how  the  tobacco  famine  ended,  and  how  the 
white  men  got  their  team. 

282 


CHAPTER   XV 

THE    ESQUIMAUX   HORSE 

"  Plus  je  connais  les  hommes,  plus  j'aime  les  chiens." 

IT  doesn't  look  hard  to  drive  a  dog-team,  but  just  you  try  it. 
In  moments  of  passion,  the  first  few  days  after  their  acquisi 
tion,  the  Colonel  and  the  Boy  wondered  why  they  had  com 
plicated  a  sufficiently  difficult  journey  by  adding  to  other  cares 
a  load  of  fish  and  three  fiends. 

"Think  how  well  they  went  for  Peetka." 
"Oh  yes;  part  o'  their  cussedness.     They  know  we're  green 
hands,  and  they  mean  to  make  it  lively." 

Well,  they  did.  They  sat  on  their  haunches  in  the  snow, 
and  grinned  at  the  whip-crackings  and  futile  "Mush,  mush!" 
of  the  Colonel.  They  snapped  at  the  Boy  and  made  sharp 
turns,  tying  him  up  in  the  traces  and  tumbling  him  into  the 
snow.  They  howled  all  night  long,  except  during  a  blessed 
interval  of  quiet  while  they  ate  their  seal-skin  harness.  But 
man  is  the  wiliest  of  the  animals,  and  the  one  who  profits  by 
experience.  In  the  end,  the  Boy  became  a  capital  driver;  the 
dogs  came  to  know  he  "meant  business,"  and  settled  into  sub 
mission.  "Nig,"  as  he  called  the  bully  dog  for  short,  turned 
out  "the  best  leader  in  the  Yukon." 

They  were  much  nearer  Kaltag  than  they  had  realised,  arriv 
ing  after  only  two  hours'  struggle  with  the  dogs  at  the  big 
Indian  village  on  the  left  bank  of  the  river.  But  their  first 
appearance  here  was  clouded  by  Nig's  proposal  to  slay  all  the 
dogs  in  sight.  He  was  no  sooner  unharnessed  than  he  under 
took  the  congenial  job.  It  looked  for  a  few  minutes  as  if 
Peetka's  bully  dog  would  chew  up  the  entire  canine  population, 
and  then  lie  down  and  die  of  his  own  wounds.  But  the  Kal- 
tags  understood  the  genus  Siwash  better  than  the  white  man, 
and  took  the  tumult  calmly. 

It  turned  out  that  Nig  was  not  so  much  bloodthirsty  as 
"bloody-proud" — one  of  those  high  souls  for  ever  concerned 
about  supremacy.  His  first  social  act,  on  catching  sight  of  his 

283 


THE    MAGNETIC    NORTH 

fellow,  was  to  howl  defiance  at  him.  And  even  after  they 
have  fought  it  out  and  come  to  some  sort  of  understanding,  the 
first  happy  thought  of  your  born  Leader  on  awakening  is  to 
proclaim  himself  boss  of  the  camp. 

No  sooner  has  he  published  this  conviction  of  high  calling 
than  he  is  set  upon  by  the  others,  punishes  them  soundly,  or  is 
himself  vanquished  and  driven  off.  Whereupon  he  sits  on  his 
haunches  in  the  snow,  and,  with  his  pointed  nose  turned  sky 
ward,  howls  uninterruptedly  for  an  hour  or  two,  when  all  is 
forgiven  and  forgotten — till  the  next  time. 

Order  being  restored,  the  travellers  got  new  harness  for  the 
dogs,  new  boots  for  themselves,  and  set  out  for  the  white  trad 
ing  post,  thirty  miles  above. 

Here,  having  at  last  come  into  the  region  of  settlements,  they 
agreed  never  again  to  overtax  the  dogs.  They  "travelled  light" 
out  of  Nulato  towards  the  Koyukuk. 

The  dogs  simply  flew  over  those  last  miles.  It  was  glorious 
going  on  a  trail  like  glass. 

They  had  broken  the  back  of  the  journey  now,  and  could 
well  afford,  they  thought,  to  halt  an  hour  or  two  on  the  island 
at  the  junction  of  the  two  great  rivers,  stake  out  a  trading  post, 
and  treat  themselves  to  town  lots.  Why  town  lots,  in  Heav 
en's  name!  when  they  were  bound  for  Minook,  and  after  that 
the  Klondyke,  hundreds  of  miles  away?  Well,  partly  out  of 
mere  gaiety  of  heart,  and  partly,  the  Colonel  would  have  told 
you  gravely,  that  in  this  country  you  never  know  when  you 
have  a  good  thing.  They  had  left  the  one  white  layman  at 
Nulato  seething  with  excitement  over  an  Indian's  report  of 
still  another  rich  strike  up  yonder  on  the  Koyukuk,  and  this 
point,  where  they  were  solemnly  staking  out  a  new  post,  the 
Nulato  Agent  had  said,  was  "dead  sure  to  be  a  great  centre." 
That  almost  unknown  region  bordering  the  great  tributary  of 
the  Yukon,  haunt  of  the  fiercest  of  all  the  Indians  of  the  North, 
was  to  be  finally  conquered  by  the  white  man.  It  had  been  left 
practically  unexplored  ever  since  the  days  when  the  bloodthirsty 
Koyukons  came  down  out  of  their  fastnesses  and  perpetrated 
the  great  Nulato  massacre,  doing  to  death  with  ghastly  bar 
barity  every  man,  woman,  and  child  at  the  post,  Russian  or 
Indian,  except  Kurilla,  not  sparing  the  unlucky  Captain  Bar 
nard  or  his  English  escort,  newly  arrived  here  in  their  search 
for  the  lost  Sir  John  Franklin.  But  the  tables  were  turned 
now,  and  the  white  man  was  on  the  trail  of  the  Indian. 

284 


THE   ESQUIMAUX    HORSE 

While  the  Colonel  and  the  Boy  were  staking  out  this  future 
stronghold  of  trade  and  civilisation  it  came  on  to  snow;  but 
"Can't  last  this  time  o'  year,"  the  Colonel  consoled  himself, 
and  thanked  God  "the  big,  unending  snows  are  over  for  this 
season." 

So  they  pushed  on.  But  the  Colonel  seemed  to  have  thanked 
God  prematurely.  Down  the  snow  drifted,  soft,  sticky,  un 
ending.  The  evening  was  cloudy,  and  the  snow  increased  the 
dimness  overhead  as  well  as  the  heaviness  under  foot.  They 
never  knew  just  where  it  was  in  the  hours  between  dusk  and 
dark  that  they  lost  the  trail.  The  Boy  believed  it  was  at  a 
certain  steep  incline  that  Nig  did  his  best  to  rush  down. 

"I  thought  he  was  at  his  tricks,"  said  the  Boy  ruefully  some 
hours  after.  "I  believe  I'm  an  ass,  and  Nig  is  a  gentleman 
and  a  scholar.  He  knew  perfectly  what  he  was  about." 

"Reckon  we'll  camp,  pardner." 

"Reckon  we  might  as  well." 

After  unharnessing  the  dogs,  the  Boy  stood  an  instant  look 
ing  enviously  at  them  as  he  thawed  out  his  stiff  hands  under 
his  parki.  Exhausted  and  smoking  hot,  the  dogs  had  curled 
down  in  the  snow  as  contented-looking  as  though  on  a  hearth 
rug  before  a  fire,  sheltering  their  sharp  noses  with  their  tails. 

"Wish  I  had  a  tail  to  shelter  my  face,"  said  the  Boy,  as  if  a 
tail  were  the  one  thing  lacking  to  complete  his  bliss. 

"You  don't  need  any  shelter  now"  answered  the  Colonel. 

"Your  face  is  gettin'  well "  And  he  stopped  suddenly, 

carried  back  to  those  black  days  when  he  had  vainly  urged  a 
face-guard.  He  unpacked  their  few  possessions,  and  watched 
the  Boy  take  the  axe  and  go  off  for  wood,  stopping  on  his  way, 
tired  as  he  was,  to  pull  Nig's  pointed  ears.  The  odd  thing 
about  the  Boy  was  that  it  was  only  with  these  Indian  curs — 
Nig  in  particular,  who  wasn't  the  Boy's  dog  at  all — only  with 
these  brute-beasts  had  he  seemed  to  recover  something  of  that 
buoyancy  and  ridiculous  youngness  that  had  first  drawn  the 
Colonel  to  him  on  the  voyage  up  from  'Frisco.  It  was  also 
clear  that  if  the  Boy  now  drew  away  from  his  pardner  ever 
so  little^  by  so  much  did  he  draw  nearer  to  the  dogs. 

He  might  be  too  tired  to  answer  the  Colonel ;  he  was  seldom 
too  tired  to  talk  nonsense  to  Nig,  never  too  tired  to  say,  "Well, 
old  boy,"  or  even  "Well,  pardner"  to  the  dumb  brute.  It 
was,  perhaps,  this  that  the  Colonel  disliked  most  of  all. 

Whether  the  U.  S.  Agent  at  Nulato  was  justified  or  not  in 

285 


THE   MAGNETIC   NORTH 

saying  all  the  region  hereabouts  was  populous  in  the  summer 
with  Indian  camps,  the  native  winter  settlements,  the  half- 
buried  ighloo,  or  the  rude  log-hut,  where,  for  a  little  tea,  to 
bacco,  or  sugar,  you  could  get  as  much  fish  as  you  could  carry, 
these  welcome,  if  malodorous,  places  seemed,  since  they  lost 
the  trail,  to  have  vanished  off  the  face  of  the  earth.  No  ques 
tion  of  the  men  sharing  the  dogs'  fish,  but  of  the  dogs  sharing 
the  men's  bacon  and  meal.  That  night  the  meagre  supper  was 
more  meagre  still  that  the  "horses"  might  have  something,  too. 
The  next  afternoon  it  stopped  snowing  and  cleared,  intensely 
cold,  and  that  was  the  evening  the  Boy  nearly  cried  for  joy 
when,  lifting  up  his  eyes,  he  saw,  a  good  way  off,  perched  on 
the  river  bank,  the  huts  and  high  caches  of  an  Indian  village 
etched  black  against  a  wintry  sunset — a  fine  picture  in  any  eye, 
but  meaning  more  than  beauty  to  the  driver  of  hungry  dogs. 

"Fish,  Nig!"  called  out  the  Boy  to  his  Leader.  "You  hear 
me,  you  Nig?  Fish,  old  fellow!  Now,  look  at  that,  Colonel! 
you  tell  me  that  Indian  dog  doesn't  understand  English.  I 
tell  you  what:  we  had  a  mean  time  with  these  dogs  just  at  first, 
but  that  was  only  because  we  didn't  understand  one  another." 

The  Colonel  preserved  a  reticent  air. 

"You'll  come  to  my  way  of  thinking  yet.  The  Indian  dog — 
he's  a  daisy." 

"Glad  you  think  so."  The  Colonel,  with  some  display  of 
temper,  had  given  up  trying  to  drive  the  team  only  half  an  hour 
before,  and  was  still  rather  sore  about  it. 

"When  you  get  to  understand  him,"  persisted  the  Boy,  "he's 
the  most  marvellous  little  horse  ever  hitched  in  harness.  He 
pulls,  pulls,  pulls  all  day  long  in  any  kind  o'  weather " 

"Yes,  pulls  you  off  your  legs  or  pulls  you  the  way  you  don't 
want  to  go." 

"Oh,  that's  when  you  rile  him!  He's  just  like  any  other 
American  gentleman :  he's  got  his  feelin's.  Ain't  you  got  feel- 
in's,  Nig?  Huh!  rather.  I  tell  you  what,  Colonel,  many  a 
time  when  I'm  pretty  well  beat  and  ready  to  snap  at  any 
body,  I've  looked  at  Nig  peggin'  away  like  a  little  man,  on  a 
rotten  trail,  with  a  blizzard  in  his  eyes,  and  it's  just  made  me 
sick  after  that  to  hear  myself  grumblin'.  Yes,  sir,  the  Indian 
dog  is  an  example  to  any  white  man  on  the  trail."  The  Boy 
seemed  not  to  relinquish  the  hope  of  stirring  the  tired  Colonel  to 
enthusiasm.  "Don't  you  like  the  way,  after  the  worst  sort  of 
day,  when  you  stop,  he  just  drops  down  in  the  snow  and  rolls 

286 


THE    ESQUIMAUX    HORSE 

about  a  little  to  rest  his  muscles,  and  then  lies  there  as  patient 
as  anything  till  you  are  ready  to  unharness  him  and  feed  him?" 

" and  if  you  don't  hurry  up,  he  saves  you  the  trouble 

of  unharnessing  by  eating  the  traces  and  things." 

"Humph!  So  would  you  if  that  village  weren't  in  sight, 
if  you  were  sure  the  harness  wouldn't  stick  in  your  gizzard. 
And  think  of  what  a  dog  gets  to  reward  him  for  his  plucky 
day:  one  dried  salmon  or  a  little  meal-soup  when  he's  off  on  a 
holiday  like  this.  Works  without  a  let-up,  and  keeps  in  good 
flesh  on  one  fish  a  day.  Doesn't  even  get  anything  to  drink; 
eats  a  little  snow  after  dinner,  digs  his  bed,  and  sleeps  in  a  drift 
till  morning." 

"When  he  doesn't  howl  all  night." 

"Oh,  that's  when  he  meets  his  friends,  and  they  talk  about 
old  times  before  they  came  down  in  the  world." 

"Hey?" 

"Yes;  when  they  were  wolves  and  made  us  run  instead  of 
our  making  them.  Make  any  fellow  howl.  Instead  of  carry 
ing  our  food  about  WTC  used  to  carry  theirs,  and  run  hard  to 
keep  from  giving  it  up,  too." 

"Nig's  at  it  again,"  said  the  Colonel.    "Give  us  your  whip." 

"No,"  said  the  Boy;  "I  begin  to  see  now  why  he  stops  and 
goes  for  Red  like  that.  Hah!  Spot's  gettin  it,  too,  this  time. 
They  haven't  been  pullin'  properly.  You  just  notice:  if  they 
aren't  doin'  their  share  Nig  '11  turn  to  every  time  and  give  'em 
'Hail,  Columbia!'  You'll  see,  when  he's  freshened  'em  up  a 
bit  we'll  have  'em  on  a  dead  run."  The  Boy  laughed  and 
cracked  his  whip. 

"They've  got  keen  noses.  /  don't  smell  the  village  this  time. 
Come  on,  Nig,  Spot's  had  enough ;  he's  sorry,  good  and  plenty. 
Cheer  up,  Spot!  Fish,  old  man!  You  hear  me  talkin'  to  you, 
Red?  Fish!  Caches  full  of  it.  Whoop!"  and  down  they 
rushed,  pell-mell,  men  and  dogs  tearing  along  like  mad  across 
the  frozen  river,  and  never  slowing  till  it  came  to  the  stiff  pull 
up  the  opposite  bank. 

"Funny  I  don't  hear  any  dogs,"  panted  the  Boy. 

They  came  out  upon  a  place  silent  as  the  dead — a  big  de 
serted  village,  emptied  by  the  plague,  or,  maybe,  only  by  the 
winter;  caches  emptied,  too;  not  a  salmon,  not  a  pike,  not  a 
lusk,  not  even  a  whitefish  left  behind. 

It  was  a  bitter  blow.  They  didn't  say  anything;  it  was  too 
bad  to  talk  about.  The  Colonel  made  the  fire,  and  fried  a 

287 


THE   MAGNETJC   NORTH 

little  bacon  and  made  some  mush :  that  was  their  dinner.  The 
bacon-rinds  were  boiled  in  the  mush-pot  with  a  great  deal  of 
snow  and  a  little  meal,  and  the  "soup"  so  concocted  was  set 
out  to  cool  for  the  dogs.  They  were  afraid  to  sleep  in  one  of 
the  cabins;  it  might  be  plague-infected.  The  Indians  had  cut 
all  the  spruce  for  a  wide  radius  round  about — no  boughs  to 
make  a  bed.  They  hoisted  some  tent-poles  up  into  one  of  the 
empty  caches,  laid  them  side  by  side,  and  on  this  bed,  dry,  if 
hard,  they  found  oblivion. 

The  next  morning  a  thin,  powdery  snow  was  driving  about. 
Had  they  lost  their  way  in  the  calendar  as  well  as  on  the  trail, 
and  was  it  December  instead  of  the  2gth  of  March?  The 
Colonel  sat  on  the  packed  sled,  undoing  with  stiff  fingers  the 
twisted,  frozen  rope.  He  knew  the  axe  that  he  used  the  night 
before  on  the  little  end  of  bacon  was  lying,  pressed  into  the 
snow,  under  one  runner.  But  that  was  the  last  thing  to  go  on 
the  pack  before  the  lashing,  and  it  wouldn't  get  lost  pinned 
down  under  the  sled.  Nig  caught  sight  of  it,  and  came  over 
with  a  cheerful  air  of  interest,  sniffed  bacon  on  the  steel,  and 
it  occurred  to  him  it  would  be  a  good  plan  to  lick  it. 

A  bitter  howling  broke  the  stillness.  The  Boy  came  tearing 
up  with  a  look  that  lifted  the  Colonel  off  the  sled,  and  there 
was  Nig  trying  to  get  away  from  the  axe-head,  his  tongue 
frozen  fast  to  the  steel,  and  pulled  horribly  long  out  of  his 
mouth  like  a  little  pink  rope.  The  Boy  had  fallen  upon  the 
agonized  beast,  and  forced  him  down  close  to  the  steel.  Hold 
ing  him  there  between  his  knees,  he  pulled  off  his  outer  mits 
and  with  hands  and  breath  warmed  the  surface  of  the  axe, 
speaking  now  and  then  to  the  dog,  who  howled  wretchedly, 
but  seemed  to  understand  something  was  being  done  for  him, 
since  he  gave  up  struggling.  When  at  last  the  Boy  got  him 
free,  the  little  horse  pressed  against  his  friend's  legs  with  a 
strange  new  shuddering  noise  very  pitiful  to  hear. 

The  Boy,  blinking  hard,  said :  "Yes,  old  man,  I  know,  that 
was  a  mean  breakfast;  and  he  patted  the  shaggy  chest.  Nig 
bent  his  proud  head  and  licked  the  rescuing  hand  with  his 
bleeding  tongue. 

"An'  you  say  that  dog  hasn't  got  feelin's!" 

They  hitched  the  team  and  pushed  on.  In  the  absence  of  a 
trail,  the  best  they  could  do  was  to  keep  to  the  river  ice.  By- 
and-bye : 

"Can  you  see  the  river  bank?" 

288 


THE   ESQUIMAUX    HORSE 

"I'm  not  sure,"  said  the  Boy. 

"I  thought  you  were  going  it  blind." 

"I  believe  I'd  better  let  Nig  have  his  head,"  said  the  Boy, 
stopping;  "he's  the  dandy  trail-finder.  Nig,  old  man,  I  takes 
off  my  hat  to  you!" 

They  pushed  ahead  till  the  half-famished  dogs  gave  out. 
They  camped  under  the  lee  of  the  propped  sled,  and  slept  the 
sleep  of  exhaustion. 

The  next  morning  dawned  clear  and  warm.  The  Colonel 
managed  to  get  a  little  wood  and  started  a  fire.  There  were  a 
few  spoonfuls  of  meal  in  the  bottom  of  the  bag  and  a  little  end 
of  bacon,  mostly  rind.  The  sort  of  soup  the  dogs  had  had  yes 
terday  was  good  enough  for  men  to-day.  The  hot  and  watery 
brew  gave  them  strength  enough  to  strike  camp  and  move  on. 
The  elder  man  began  to  say  to  himself  that  he  would  sell  his 
life  dearly.  He  looked  at  the  dogs  a  good  deal,  and  then  would 
look  at  the  Boy,  but  he  could  never  catch  his  eye.  At  last: 
"They  say,  you  know,  that  men  in  our  fix  have  sometimes  had 
to  sacrifice  a  dog." 

"Ugh!"    The  Boy's  face  expressed  nausea  at  the  thought. 

"Yes,  it  is  pretty  revolting." 

"We  could  never  do  it." 

"N-no,"  said  the  Colonel. 

The  three  little  Esquimaux  horses  were  not  only  very  hun 
gry,  their  feet  were  in  a  bad  condition,  and  were  bleeding.  The 
Boy  had  shut  his  eyes  at  first  at  the  sight  of  their  red  tracks 
in  the  snow.  He  hardly  noticed  them  now. 

An  hour  or  so  later:  "Better  men  than  we,"  says  the 
Colonel  significantly,  "have  had  to  put  their  feelings  in  their 
pockets."  As  if  he  found  the  observation  distinctly  discourag 
ing,  Nig  at  this  moment  sat  down  in  the  melting  snow,  and  no 
amount  of  "mushing"  moved  him. 

"Let's  give  him  half  an  hour's  rest,  Colonel.  Valuable 
beast,  you  know — altogether  best  team  on  the  river,"  said  the 
Boy,  as  if  to  show  that  his  suggestion  was  not  inspired  by  mere 
pity  for  the  bleeding  dogs.  "And  you  look  rather  faded  your 
self,  Colonel.  Sit  down  and  rest." 

Nothing  more  was  said  for  a  full  half-hour,  till  the  Colonel, 
taking  off  his  fur  hat,  and  wiping  his  beaded  forehead  on  the 
back  of  his  hand,  remarked :  "Think  of  the  Siege  of  Paris." 

"Eh?  What?"  The  Boy  stared  as  if  afraid  his  partner's 
brain  had  given  way. 

289 


THE   MAGNETIC   NORTH 

"When  the  horses  gave  out  they  had  to  eat  dogs,  cats,  rats 
even.  Think  of  it — rats!" 

"The  French  are  a  dirty  lot.  Let's  mush,  Colonel.  I'm  as 
fit  as  a  fiddle."  The  Boy  got  up  and  called  the  dogs.  In  ten 
minutes  they  were  following  the  blind  trail  again.  But  the 
sled  kept  clogging,  sticking  fast  and  breaking  down.  After  a 
desperate  bout  of  ineffectual  pulling,  the  dogs  with  one  mind 
stopped  again,  and  lay  down  in  their  bloody  tracks. 

The  men  stood  silent  for  a  moment;  then  the  Colonel  re 
marked  : 

"Red  is  the  least  valuable" — a  long  pause — "but  Nig's  feet 
are  in  the  worst  condition.  That  dog  won't  travel  a  mile 
further.  Well,"  added  the  Colonel  after  a  bit,  as  the  Boy 
stood  speechless  studying  the  team,  "what  do  you  say?" 

"Me?"  He  looked  up  like  a  man  who  has  been  dreaming 
and  is  just  awake.  "Oh,  I  should  say  our  friend  Nig  here 
has  had  to  stand  more  than  his  share  of  the  racket." 

"Poor  old  Nig!"  said  the  Colonel,  with  a  somewhat  guilty 
air.  "Look  here:  what  do  you  say  to  seeing  whether  they  can 
go  if  we  help  'em  with  that  load?" 

"Good  for  you,  Colonel!"  said  the  Boy,  with  confidence 
wonderfully  restored.  "I  was  just  thinking  the  same." 

They  unlashed  the  pack,  and  the  Colonel  wanted  to  make 
two  bundles  of  the  bedding  and  things;  but  whether  the  Boy 
really  thought  the  Colonel  was  giving  out,  or  whether  down  in 
some  corner  of  his  mind  he  recognised  the  fact  that  if  the 
Colonel  were  not  galled  by  this  extra  burden  he  might  feel 
his  hunger  less,  and  so  be  less  prone  to  thoughts  of  poor  Nig  in 
the  pot — however  it  was,  he  said  the  bundle  was  his  business 
for  the  first  hour.  So  the  Colonel  did  the  driving,  and  the  Boy 
tramped  on  ahead,  breaking  trail  with  thirty-five  pounds  on  his 
back.  And  he  didn't  give  it  up,  either,  though  he  admitted  long 
after  it  was  the  toughest  time  he  had  ever  put  in  in  all  his  life. 

"Haven't  you  had  about  enough  of  this?"  the  Colonel  sang 
out  at  dusk. 

"Pretty  nearly,"  said  the  Boy  in  a  rather  weak  voice.  He 
flung  off  the  pack,  and  sat  on  it. 

"Get  up,"  says  the  Colonel;  "give  us  the  sleepin'-bag." 
When  it  was  undone,  the  Norfolk  jacket  dropped  out.  He 
rolled  it  up  against  the  sled,  flung  himself  down,  and  heavily 
dropped  his  head  on  the  rough  pillow.  But  he  sprang  up. 

"What?  Yes.  By  the  Lord!"  He  thrust  his  hand  into  the 

290 


THE   ESQUIMAUX   HORSE 

capacious  pocket  of  the  jacket,  and  pulled  out  some  broken 
ship's  biscuit.  "Hard  tack,  by  the  living  Jingo !"  He  was  up, 
had  a  few  sticks  alight,  and  the  kettle  on,  and  was  melting 
snow  to  pour  on  the  broken  biscuit.  "It  swells,  you  know, 
like  thunder!" 

The  Boy  was  still  sitting  on  the  bundle  of  "trade"  tea  and 
tobacco.  He  seemed  not  to  hear;  he  seemed  not  to  see  the 
Colonel,  shakily  hovering  about  the  fire,  pushing  aside  the 
green  wood  and  adding  a  few  sticks  of  dry. 

There  was  a  mist  before  the  Colonel's  eyes.  Reaching  after 
a  bit  of  seasoned  spruce,  he  stumbled,  and  unconsciously  set 
his  foot  on  Nig's  bleeding  paw.  The  dog  let  out  a  yell  and 
flew  at  him.  The  Colonel  fell  back  with  an  oath,  picked  up 
a  stick,  and  laid  it  on.  The  Boy  was  on  his  feet  in  a  flash. 

"Here!  stop  that!"  He  jumped  in  between  the  infuriated 
man  and  the  infuriated  dog. 

"Stand  back!"  roared  the  Colonel. 

"It  was  your  fault;  you  trod " 

"Stand  back,  damn  you!  or  you'll  get  hurt." 

The  stick  would  have  fallen  on  the  Boy;  he  dodged  it,  call 
ing  excitedly,  "Come  here,  Nig!  Here!" 

"He's  my  dog,  and  I'll  lamm  him  if  I  like.    You "    The 

Colonel  couldn't  see  just  where  the  Boy  and  the  culprit  were. 
Stumbling  a  few  paces  away  from  the  glare  of  the  fire,  he 
called  out,  "I'll  kill  that  brute  if  he  snaps  at  me  again!" 

"Oh  yes,"  the  Boy's  voice  rang  passionately  out  of  the  gloom, 
"I  know  you  want  him  killed." 

The  Colonel  sat  down  heavily  on  the  rolled-up  bag.  Pres 
ently  the  bubbling  of  boiling  snow-water  roused  him.  He  got 
up,  divided  the  biscuit,  and  poured  the  hot  water  over  the  frag 
ments.  Then  he  sat  down  again,  and  waited  for  them  to 
"  swell  like  thunder."  He  couldn't  see  where,  a  little  way  up 
the  hillside,  the  Boy  sat  on  a  fallen  tree  with  Nig's  head  under 
his  arm.  The  Boy  felt  pretty  low  in  his  mind.  He  sat 
crouched  together,  with  his  head  sunk  almost  to  his  knees.  It 
was  a  lonely  kind  of  a  world  after  all.  Doing  your  level  best 
didn't  seem  to  get  you  any  forrader.  What  was  the  use?  He 
started.  Something  warm,  caressing,  touched  his  cold  face  just 
under  one  eye.  Nig's  tongue. 

"Good  old  Nig!  You  feel  lonesome,  too?"  He  gathered 
the  rough  beast  up  closer  to  him. 

Just  then  the  Colonel  called,  "Nig!" 

291 


THE    MAGNETIC    NORTH 

"Sh!  sh!     Lie  quiet!"  whispered  the  Boy. 

"Nig!  Nig!" 

"Good  old  boy!  Stay  here!  He  doesn't  mean  well  by  you. 
Sh!  quiet!  Quiet,  I  say!" 

"Nig!"  and  the  treacherous  Colonel  gave  the  peculiar  whistle 
both  men  used  to  call  the  dogs  to  supper.  The  dog  struggled 
to  get  away,  the  Boy's  stiff  ringers  lost  their  grip,  and  "the 
best  leader  in  the  Yukon"  was  running  down  the  bank  as  hard 
as  he  could  pelt,  to  the  camp  fire — to  the  cooking-pot. 

The  Boy  got  up  and  floundered  away  in  the  opposite  di 
rection.  He  must  get  out  of  hearing.  He  toiled  on,  listening 
for  the  expected  gunshot — hearing  it,  too,  and  the  yawp  of  a 
wounded  dog,  in  spite  of  a  mitten  clapped  at  each  ear. 

"That's  the  kind  of  world  it  is!  Do  your  level  best,  drag 
other  fellas'  packs  hundreds  o'  miles  over  the  ice  with  a  hungry 

belly  and  bloody  feet,  and  then Poor  old  Nig! — 'cause 

you're  lame — poor  old  Nig!"  With  a  tightened  throat  and 
hot  water  in  his  eyes,  he  kept  on  repeating  the  dog's  name  as 
he  stumbled  forward  in  the  snow.  "Nev'  mind,  old  boy;  it's 
a  lonely  kind  o'  world,  and  the  right  trail's  hard  to  find."  Sud 
denly  he  stood  still.  His  stumbling  feet  were  on  a  track.  He 
had  reached  the  dip  in  the  saddle-back  of  the  hill,  and — yes! 
this  was  the  right  trail ;  for  down  on  the  other  side  below  him 
were  faint  lights — huts — an  Indian  village !  with  fish  and  food 
for  everybody.  And  Nig — Nig  was  being 

The  Boy  turned  as  if  a  hurricane  had  struck  him,  and  tore 
back  down  the  incline — stumbling,  floundering  in  the  snow, 
calling  hoarsely:  "Colonel,  Colonel!  don't  do  it!  There's  a  vil 
lage  here,  Colonel!  Nig!  Colonel,  don't  do  it!" 

He  dashed  into  the  circle  of  firelight,  and  beheld  Nig  stand 
ing  with  a  bandaged  paw,  placidly  eating  softened  biscuit  out 
of  the  family  frying-pan. 

It  was  short  work  getting  down  to  the  village.  They  had 
one  king  salmon  and  two  white  fish  from  the  first  Indian  they 
saw,  who  wanted  hootch  for  them,  and  got  only  tabak. 

In  the  biggest  of  the  huts,  nearly  full  of  men,  women,  and 
children,  coughing,  sickly-looking,  dejected,  the  natives  made 
room  for  the  strangers.  When  the  white  men  had  supped  they 
handed  over  the  remains  of  their  meal  (as  is  expected)  to  the 
head  of  the  house.  This  and  a  few  matches  or  a  little  tobacco 
on  parting,  is  all  he  looks  for  in  return  for  shelter,  room  for 
beds  on  the  floor,  snow-water  laboriously  melted,  use  of  the 

292 


THE   ESQUIMAUX   HORSE 

fire,  and  as  much  wood  as  they  like  to  burn,  even  if  it  is  a 
barren  place,  and  fuel  is  the  precious  far-travelled  "drift." 

It  is  curious  to  see  how  soon  travellers  get  past  that  first 
cheeckalko  feeling  that  it  is  a  little  "nervy,"  as  the  Boy  had 
said,  to  walk  into  another  man's  house  uninvited,  an  absolute 
stranger,  and  take  possession  of  everything  you  want  without 
so  much  as  "by  your  leave."  You  soon  learn  it  is  the  Siwash* 
custom. 

Nothing  would  have  seemed  stranger  now,  or  more  inhu 
man,  than  the  civilized  point  of  view. 

The  Indians  trailed  out  one  by  one,  all  except  the  old  buck 
to  whom  the  hut  belonged.  He  hung  about  for  a  bit  till  he 
was  satisfied  the  travellers  had  no  hootch,  not  even  a  little  for 
the  head  of  the  house,  and  yet  they  seemed  to  be  fairly  decent 
fellows.  Then  he  rolls  up  his  blankets,  for  there  is  a  premium 
on  sleeping-space,  and  goes  out,  with  never  a  notion  that  he  is 
doing  more  than  any  man  would,  anywhere  in  the  world,  to 
find  a  place  in  some  neighbour's  hut  to  pass  the  night. 

He  leaves  the  two  strangers,  as  Indian  hospitality  ordains, 
to  the  warmest  places  in  the  best  hut,  with  two  young  squaws, 
one  old  one,  and  five  children,  all  sleeping  together  on  the  floor, 
as  a  matter  of  course. 

The  Colonel  and  the  Boy  had  flung  themselves  down  on  top 
of  their  sleeping-bag,  fed  and  warmed  and  comforted.  Only 
the  old  squaw  was  still  up.  She  had  been  looking  over  the 
travellers'  boots  and  "mitts,"  and  now,  without  a  word  or  even 
a  look  being  exchanged  upon  the  subject,  she  sat  there  in  the 
corner,  by  the  dim,  seal-oil  light,  sewing  on  new  thongs,  patch 
ing  up  holes,  and  making  the  strange  men  tidy — men  she  had 
never  seen  before  and  would  never  see  again.  And  this,  no 
tribute  to  the  Colonel's  generosity  or  the  youth  and  friendly 
manners  of  the  Boy.  They  knew  the  old  squaw  would  have 
done  just  the  same  had  the  mucklucks  and  the  mitts  belonged 
to  "the  tramp  of  the  Yukon,"  with  nothing  to  barter  and  not  a 
cent  in  his  pocket.  This,  again,  is  a  Siwash  custom. 

The  old  squaw  coughed  and  wiped  her  eyes.  The  children 
coughed  in  their  sleep. 

The  dogs  outside  were  howling  like  human  beings  put  to 
torture.  But  the  sound  no  longer  had  power  to  freeze  the 
blood  of  the  trail-men. 

*  Siwash,  corruption  of  French-Canadian  sauvage,  applied  all  over  the 
North  to  the  natives,  their  possessions  and  their  customs. 

293 


THE   MAGNETIC    NORTH 

The  Colonel  merely  damned  them.  The  Boy  lifted  his  head, 
and  listened  for  Nig's  note.  The  battle  raged  nearer;  a  great 
scampering  went  by  the  tent. 

"Nig!" 

A  scuffling  and  snuffing  round  the  bottom  of  the  tent.  The 
Boy,  on  a  sudden  impulse,  reached  out  and  lifted  the  flap. 

"Got  your  bandage  on?    Come  here." 

Nig  brisked  in  with  the  air  of  one  having  very  little  time  to 
waste. 

"Lord!  I  should  think  you'd  be  glad  to  lie  down.  I  am. 
Let's  see  your  paw.  Here,  come  over  to  the  light."  He  stepped 
very  carefully  over  the  feet  of  the  other  inhabitants  till  he 
reached  the  old  woman's  corner.  Nig,  following  calmly, 
walked  on  prostrate  bodies  till  he  reached  his  friend. 

"Now,  your  paw,  pardner.  F-ith!  Bad,  ain't  it?"  he  ap 
pealed  to  the  toothless  squaw.  Her  best  friend  could  not  have 
said  her  wizened  regard  was  exactly  sympathetic,  but  it  was 
attentive.  She  seemed  intelligent  as  well  as  kind. 

"Look  here,"  whispered  the  Boy,  "let  that  muckluck  string 
o'  mine  alone."  He  drew  it  away,  and  dropped  it  between  his 
knees.  "Haven't  you  got  something  or  other  to  make  some  shoes 
for  Nig?  Hein?  He  pantomimed,  but  she  only  stared. 
"Like  this."  He  pulled  out  his  knife,  and  cut  off  the  end  of 
one  leg  of  his  "shaps,"  and  gathered  it  gently  round  Nig's  near 
est  foot.  "Little  dog-boots.  See?  Give  you  some  bully  tabak 
if  you'll  do  that  for  Nig.  Hein?" 

She  nodded  at  last,  and  made  a  queer  wheezy  sound,  whether 
friendly  laughing  or  pure  scorn,  the  Boy  wasn't  sure.  But  she 
set  about  the  task. 

"Come  'long,  Nig,"  he  whispered.  "You  just  see  if  I  donjt 
shoe  my  little  horse."  And  he  sneaked  back  to  bed,  comfort 
able  in  the  assurance  that  the  Colonel  was  asleep.  Nig  came 
walking  after  his  friend  straight  over  people's  heads. 

One  of  the  children  sat  up  and  whimpered.  The  Colonel 
growled  sleepily. 

"You  black  devil!"  admonished  the  Boy  under  his  breath. 
"Look  what  you're  about.  Come  here,  sir."  He  pushed  the 
devil  down  between  the  sleeping-bag  and  the  nearest  baby. 

The  Colonel  gave  a  distinct  grunt  of  disapproval,  and  then, 
"Keepin'  that  brute  in  here?" 

"He's  a  lot  cleaner  than  our  two-legged  friends,"  said  the 
Boy  sharply,  as  if  answering  an  insult. 

294 


THE    ESQUIMAUX    HORSE 

"Right,"  said  the  Colonel  with  conviction. 

His  pardner  was  instantly  mollified.  "If  you  wake  another 
baby,  you'll  get  a  lickin',"  he  said  genially  to  the  dog;  and  then 
he  stretched  out  his  feet  till  they  reached  Nig's  back,  and  a 
feeling  of  great  comfort  came  over  the  Boy. 

"Say,  Colonel,"  he  yawned  luxuriously,  "did  you  know  that 
— a — to-night — when  Nig  flared  up,  did  you  know  you'd  trod 
den  on  his  paw?" 

"Didn't  know  it  till  you  told  me,"  growled  the  Colonel. 

"I  thought  you  didn't.     Makes  a  difference,  doesn't  it?" 

"You  needn't  think,"  says  the  Colonel  a  little  defiantly,  "that 
I've  weakened  on  the  main  point  just  because  I  choose  to  give 
Nig  a  few  cracker-crumbs.  If  it's  a  question  between  a  man's 
life  and  a  dog's  life,  only  a  sentimental  fool  would  hesitate." 

"I'm  not  talking  about  that;  we  can  get  fish  now.  What 
I'm  pointin'  out  is  that  Nig  didn't  fly  at  you  for  nothin'." 

"He's  got  a  devil  of  a  temper,  that  dog." 

"It's  just  like  Nicholas  of  Pymeut  said."  The  Boy  sat  up, 
eager  in  his  advocacy  and  earnest  as  a  judge.  "Nicholas  of 
Pymeut  said :  'You  treat  a  Siwash  like  a  heathen,  and  he'll  show 
you  what  a  hell  of  a  heathen  he  can  be.'  " 

"Oh,  go  to  sleep." 

"I'm  goin',  Colonel." 


295 


CHAPTER   XVI 

/ 

MINOOK 

"For  whatever  .  .  .  may  come  to  pass,  it  lies  with  me  to  have  it  serve 
me. " — EPICTETUS. 

THE    Indians    guided    them    back    to    the    trail.      The 
Colonel  and  the  Boy  made  good  speed  to  Novikakat,  laid 
in  supplies  at  Korkorines,  heard  the  first  doubtful  ac 
count  of   Minook  at  Tanana,   and   pushed   on.      Past  camps 
Stoneman  and  Woodworth,  where  the  great  Klondyke  Expe 
ditions  lay  fast  in  the  ice;  along  the  white  strip  of  the  narrow 
ing  river,  pent  in  now  between  mountains  black  with  scant, 
subarctic  timber,  or  gray  with  fantastic  weather-worn  rock — 
on  and  on,  till  they  reached  the  bluffs  of  the  Lower  Ramparts. 

Here,  at  last,  between  the  ranks  of  the  many-gabled  heights, 
Big  Minook  Creek  meets  Father  Yukon.  Just  below  the 
junction,  perched  jauntily  on  a  long  terrace,  up  above  the 
frozen  river-bed,  high  and  dry,  and  out  of  the  coming  trouble 
when  river  and  creek  should  wake — here  was  the  long,  log- 
built  mining  town,  Minook,  or  Rampart,  for  the  name  was 
still  undetermined  in  the  spring  of  1898. 

It  was  a  great  moment. 

"Shake,  pardner,"  said  the  Boy.  The  Colonel  and  he 
grasped  hands.  Only  towering  good  spirits  prevented  their 
being  haughty,  for  they  felt  like  conquerors,  and  cared  not  a 
jot  that  they  looked  like  gaol-birds. 

It  was  two  o'clock  in  the  morning.  The  Gold  Nugget 
Saloon  was  flaring  with  light,  and  a  pianola  was  perforating 
a  tune.  The  travellers  pushed  open  a  frosted  door,  and  looked 
into  a  long,  low,  smoke-veiled  room,  hung  with  many  kero 
sene  lamps,  and  heated  by  a  great  red-hot  iron  stove. 

"Hello!"  said  a  middle-aged  man  in  mackinaws,  smoking 
near  the  door-end  of  the  bar. 

"Hello!  Is  Blandford  Keith  here?  There  are  some  letters 
for  him." 

296 


MINOOK 

"Say,  boys!"  the  man  in  mackinaws  shouted  above  the  pia 
nola,  "Windy  Jim's  got  in  with  the  mail." 

The  miners  lounging  at  the  bar  and  sitting  at  the  faro- 
tables  looked  up  laughing,  and  seeing  the  strangers  through 
the  smoke-haze,  stopped  laughing  to  stare. 

"Down  from  Dawson?"  asked  the  bar-tender  hurrying  for 
ward,  a  magnificent  creature  in  a  check  waistcoat,  shirt-sleeves, 
four-in-hand  tie,  and  a  diamond  pin. 

"No,  t'other  way  about.    Up  from  the  Lower  River." 

"Oh!  May  West  or  Muckluck  crew?  Anyhow,  I  guess 
you  got  a  thirst  on  you,"  said  the  man  in  the  mackinaws.  "Come 
and  licker  up." 

The  bar-tender  mixed  the  drinks  in  style,  shooting  the  liquor 
from  a  height  into  the  small  gin-sling  glasses  with  the  dexterity 
that  had  made  him  famous. 

When  their  tired  eyes  had  got  accustomed  to  the  mingled 
smoke  and  glare,  the  travellers  could  see  that  in  the  space  be 
yond  the  card-tables,  in  those  back  regions  where  the  pianola 
reigned,  there  were  several  couples  twirling  about — the  clum 
sily-dressed  miners  pirouetting  with  an  astonishing  lightness  on 
their  moccasined  feet.  And  women!  White  women! 

They  stopped  dancing  and  came  forward  to  see  the  new 
arrivals. 

The  mackinaw  man  was  congratulating  the  Colonel  on  "get- 
tin'  back  to  civilization." 

"See  that  plate-glass  mirror?"  He  pointed  behind  the  bar, 
below  the  moose  antlers.  "See  them  ladies?  You've  got  to  a 
place  where  you  can  rake  in  the  dust  all  day,  and  dance  all 
night,  and  go  buckin'  the  tiger  between  whiles.  Great  place, 
Minook.  Here's  luck!"  He  took  up  the  last  of  the  gin  slings 
set  in  a  row  before  the  party. 

"Have  you  got  some  property  here?"  asked  the  Boy. 

The  man,  without  putting  down  his  glass,  simply  closed  one 
eye  over  the  rim. 

"We've  heard  some  bad  accounts  of  these  diggin's,"  said  the 
Colonel. 

"I  ain't  sayin'  there's  millions  for  everybody.  You've  got  to 
get  the  inside  track.  See  that  feller  talkin'  to  the  girl?  Billy 
Nebrasky  tipped  him  the  wink  in  time  to  git  the  inside  track, 
just  before  the  Fall  Stampede  up  the  gulch." 

"Which  gulch?" 

He  only  motioned  with  his  head.  "Through  havin'  that  tip, 

297 


THE    MAGNETIC   NORTH 

he  got  there  in  time  to  stake  number  three  Below  Discovery. 
He's  had  to  hang  up  drinks  all  winter,  but  he's  a  millionaire 
all  right.  He's  got  a  hundred  thousand  dollars  in  sight,  only 
waitin'  for  runnin'  water  to  wash  it  out." 

"Then  there  is  gold  about  here?" 

"There  is  gold?  Say,  Maudie,"  he  remarked  in  a  humour 
ous  half-aside  to  the  young  woman  who  was  passing  with  No- 
thumb-jack,  "this  fellow  wants  to  know  if  there  is  gold  here." 

She  laughed.     "Guess  he  ain't  been  here  long." 

Now  it  is  not  to  be  denied  that  this  rejoinder  was  suscepti 
ble  of  more  than  one  interpretation,  but  the  mackinaw  man 
seemed  satisfied,  so  much  so  that  he  offered  Maudie  the  second 
gin-sling  which  the  Colonel  had  ordered  "all  round."  She 
eyed  the  strangers  over  the  glass.  On  the  hand  that  held  it  a 
fine  diamond  sparkled.  You  would  say  she  was  twenty-six, 
but  you  wouldn't  have  been  sure.  She  had  seemed  at  least 
that  at  a  distance.  Now  she  looked  rather  younger.  The  face 
wore  an  impudent  look,  yet  it  was  delicate,  too.  Her  skin 
showed  very  white  and  fine  under  the  dabs  of  rouge.  The 
blueness  was  not  yet  faded  out  of  her  restless  eyes. 

"Minook's  all  right.  No  josh  about  that,"  she  said,  setting 
down  her  glass.  Then  to  the  Boy,  "Have  a  dance?" 

"Not  much,"  he  replied  rather  roughly,  and  turned  away  to 
talk  about  the  diggin's  to  two  men  on  the  other  side. 

Maudie  laid  her  hand  on  the  Colonel's  arm,  and  the  diamond 
twitched  the  light.  "You  will,"  she  said. 

"Well,  you  see,  ma'am" — the  Colonel's  smile  was  charming 
in  spite  of  his  wild  beard — "we've  done  such  a  lot  o'  dancin' 
lately — done  nothin'  else  for  forty  days;  and  after  seven  hun 
dred  miles  of  it  we're  just  a  trifle  tired,  ma'am." 

She  laughed  good-naturedly. 

"Pity  you're  tired,"  said  the  mackinaw  man.  "There's  a 
pretty  good  thing  goin'  just  now,  but  it  won't  be  goin'  long." 

The  Boy  turned  his  head  round  again  with  reviving  interest 
in  his  own  group. 

"Look  here,  Si,"  Maudie  was  saying:  "if  you  want  to  let  a 
lay  on  your  new  claim  to  anybody,  mind  it's  got  to  be  me." 

But  the  mackinaw  man  was  glancing  speculatively  over  at 
another  group.  In  haste  to  forestall  desertion,  the  Boy  in 
quired  : 

"Do  you  know  of  anything  good  that  isn't  staked  yet?" 

"Well,  mebbe  I  don't— and  mebbe  I  do."  Then,  as  if  to 

298 


MINOOK 

prove  that  he  wasn't  overanxious  to  pursue  the  subject:  "Say, 
Maudie,  ain't  that  French  Charlie  over  there?"  Maudie  put 
her  small  nose  in  the  air.  "Ain't  you  made  it  up  with  Charlie 
yet?"1 

"No,  I  ain't." 

"Then  we'll  have  another  drink  all  round." 

While  he  was  untying  the  drawstring  of  his  gold  sack, 
Maudie  said,  half-aside,  but  whether  to  the  Colonel  or  the  Boy 
neither  could  tell:  "Might  do  worse  than  keep  your  eye  on 
Si  McGinty."  She  nodded  briskly  at  the  violet  checks  on  the 
mackinaw  back.  "Si's  got  a  cinch  up  there  on  Glory  Hallelu 
jah,  and  nobody's  on  to  it  yet." 

The  pianola  picked  out  a  polka.  The  man  Si  McGinty  had 
called  French  Charlie  came  up  behind  the  girl  and  said  some 
thing.  She  shook  her  head,  turned  on  her  heel,  and  began 
circling  about  in  the  narrow  space  till  she  found  another  part 
ner,  French  Charlie  scowling  after  them,  as  they  whirled  away 
between  the  faro-tables  back  into  the  smoke  and  music  at  the 
rear.  McGinty  was  watching  Jimmie,  the  man  at  the  gold 
scales,  pinch  up  some  of  the  excess  dust  in  the  scale-pan  and 
toss  it  back  into  the  brass  blower. 

"Where  did  that  gold  come  from?"  asked  the  Colonel. 

"Off  a  claim  o'  mine" ;  and  he  lapsed  into  silence. 

You  are  always  told  these  fellows  are  so  anxious  to  rope  in 
strangers.  This  man  didn't  seem  to  be.  It  made  him  very 
interesting.  The  Boy  acted  strictly  on  the  woman's  hint,  and 
kept  an  eye  on  the  person  who  had  a  sure  thing  up  on  Glory 
Hallelujah.  But  when  the  lucky  man  next  opened  his  mouth 
it  was  to  say: 

"Why,  there's  Butts  down  from  Circle  City." 

"Butts?"  repeated  the  Boy,  with  little  affectation  of  interest. 

"Yep.  Wonder  what  the  son  of  a  gun  is  after  here"  But 
he  spoke  genially,  even  with  respect. 

"Who's  Butts?" 

"Butts?  Ah — well — a — Butts  is  the  smartest  fellow  with 
his  fingers  in  all  'laska" ;  and  McGinty  showed  his  big  yellow 
teeth  in  an  appreciative  smile. 

"Smart  at  washin'  gold  out?" 

"Smarter  at  pickin'  it  out."  The  bartender  joined  in  Si's 
laugh  as  that  gentleman  repeated,  "Yes,  sir!  handiest  feller 
with  his  fingers  I  ever  seen." 

299 


THE    MAGNETIC    NORTH 

"What  does  he  do  with  his  fingers?"  asked  the  Boy,  with 
impatient  suspicion. 

1  'Well,  he  don't  dare  do  much  with  'em  up  here.  'Tain't 
popular." 

"What  ain't?" 

"Butts's  little  game.  But  Lord!  he  is  good  at  it."  Butts 
had  been  introduced  as  a  stalking-horse,  but  there  was  no  doubt 
about  Si's  admiration  of  his  "handiness."  "Butts  is  wasted  up 
here,"  he  sighed.  "There's  some  chance  for  a  murderer  in 
Alaska,  but  a  thief's  a  goner." 

"Oh,  well;  you  were  sayin'  that  gold  o'  yours  came 
from " 

"Poor  old  Butts!     Bright  feller,  too. 

"How  far  off  is  your " 

"I  tell  you,  sir,  Butts  is  brains  to  his  boots.  Course  you 
know  Jack  McQuestion?" 

"No,  but  I'd  like  to  hear  a  little  about  your " 

"Y'  don'  know  Jack  McQuestion?  Well,  sir,  Jack's  the 
biggest  man  in  the  Yukon.  Why,  he  built  Fort  Reliance  six 
miles  below  the  mouth  of  the  Klondyke  in  '73;  he  discovered 
gold  on  the  Stewart  in  '85,  and  established  a  post  there. 
Everybody  knows  Jack  McQuestion;  an" — quickly,  as  he  saw 
he  was  about  to  be  interrupted — "you  heard  about  that  swell 
watch  we  all  clubbed  together  and  give  him  ?  No  ?  Well,  sir, 
there  ain't  an  eleganter  watch  in  the  world.  Is  there?" 

"Guess  not,"  said  the  bartender. 

"Repeater,  you  know.  Got  twenty-seven  di'mon's  in  the 
case.  One  of  'em's  this  size."  He  presented  the  end  of  a 
gnarled  and  muscular  thumb.  "And  inside,  the  case  is  all  wrote 
in — a  lot  of  soft  sawder;  but  Jack  ain't  got  anything  he  cares 
for  so  much.  You  can  see  he's  always  tickled  to  death  when 
anybody  asks  him  the  time.  But  do  you  think  he  ever  lets  that 
watch  out'n  his  own  hands?  Not  much.  Let's  anybody  look 
at  it,  and  keeps  a  holt  o'  the  stem-winder.  Well,  sir,  we  was 
all  in  a  saloon  up  at  Circle,  and  that  feller  over  there — Butts 
— he  bet  me  fifty  dollars  that  he'd  git  McQuestion's  watch 
away  from  him  before  he  left  the  saloon.  An'  it  was  late. 
McQuestion  was  thinkin'  a'ready  about  goin'  home  to  that 
squaw  wife  that  keeps  him  so  straight.  Well,  sir,  Butts  went 
over  and  began  to  gas  about  outfittin',  and  McQuestion 
answers  and  figures  up  the  estimates  on  the  counter,  and,  by 
Gawd!  in  less  'n  quarter  of  an  hour  Butts,  just  standin'  there 

300 


MINOOK 

and  listenin',  as  you'd  think — he'd  got  that  di'mon'  watch  off'n 
the  chain  an'  had  it  in  his  pocket.  I  knew  he  done  it,  though  I 
ain't  exactly  seen  how  he  done  it.  The  others  who  were  in 
the  game,  they  swore  he  hadn't  got  it  yet,  but,  by  Gawd,  Butts 
says  he'll  think  over  McQuestion's  terms,  and  wonders  what 
time  it  is.  He  takes  that  di'mon'  watch  out  of  his  pocket, 
glances  at  it,  and  goes  off  smooth  as  cream,  sayin'  'Good 
night.'  Then  he  come  a  grinnin'  over  to  us.  'Jest  you  go  an* 
ask  the  Father  o'  the  Yukon  Pioneers  what  time  it  is,  will  yer  ?' 
An'  I  done  it.  Well,  sir,  when  he  put  his  hand  in  his  pocket, 
by  Gawd !  I  wish  y'  could  a'  saw  McQuestion's  face.  Yes,  sir, 
Butts  is  brains  to  his  boots." 

"How  far  out  are  the  diggin's?" 

"What  diggin's?" 

"Yours." 

"Oh — a — my  gulch  ain't  fur." 

There  was  a  noise  about  the  door.  Someone  bustled  in  with 
a  torrent  of  talk,  and  the  pianola  was  drowned  in  a  pandemo 
nium  of  shouts  and  laughter. 

"Windy  Jim's  reely  got  back!" 

Everybody  crowded  forward.  Maudie  was  at  the  Colonel's 
elbow  explaining  that  the  little  yellow-bearded  man  with  the 
red  nose  was  the  letter-carrier.  He  had  made  a  contract  early 
in  the  winter  to  go  to  Dawson  and  bring  down  the  mail  for 
Minook.  His  agreement  was  to  make  the  round  trip  and  be 
back  by  the  middle  of  February.  Since  early  March  the  stand 
ing  gag  in  the  camp  had  been:  "Well,  Windy  Jim  got  in  last 
night." 

The  mild  jest  had  grown  stale,  and  the  denizens  of  Minook 
had  given  up  the  hope  of  ever  laying  eyes  on  Windy  again, 
when  lo!  here  he  was  with  twenty-two  hundred  letters  in  his 
sack.  The  patrons  of  the  Gold  Nugget  crowded  round  him 
like  flies  round  a  lump  of  sugar,  glad  to  pay  a  dollar  apiece 
on  each  letter  he  handed  out.  "And  you  take  all  that's  addressed 
to  yer  at  that  price  or  you  get  none."  Every  letter  there  had 
come  over  the  terrible  Pass.  Every  one  had  travelled  twelve 
hundred  miles  by  dog-team,  and  some  had  been  on  the  trail 
seven  months. 

"Here,  Maudie,  me  dear."  The  postman  handed  her  two 
letters.  "See  how  he  dotes  on  yer." 

"Got  anything  fur — what's  yer  names?"  says  the  mackinaw 
man,  who  seemed  to  have  adopted  the  Colonel  and  the  Boy. 

301 


THE   MAGNETIC   NORTH 

He  presented  them  without  embarrassment  to  "Windy  Jim 
Wilson,  of  Hog'em  Junction,  the  best  trail  mail-carrier  in  the 
'nited  States." 

Those  who  had  already  got  letters  were  gathered  in  groups 
under  the  bracket-lights  reading  eagerly.  In  the  midst  of  the 
lull  of  satisfaction  or  expectancy  someone  cried  out  in  disgust, 
and  another  threw  down  a  letter  with  a  shower  of  objurga 
tion. 

"Guess  you  got  the  mate  to  mine,  Bonsor,"  said  a  bystander 
with  a  laugh,  slowly  tearing  up  the  communication  he  had 
opened  with  fingers  so  eager  that  they  shook. 

"You  pay  a  dollar  apiece  for  letters  from  folks  you  never 
heard  of,  asking  you  what  you  think  of  the  country,  and 
whether  you'd  advise  'em  to  come  out." 

"Huh!  don't  I  wish  they  would!" 

"It's  all  right.     They  will." 

"And  then  trust  Bonsor  to  git  even." 

Salaman,  "the  luckiest  man  in  camp,"  who  had  come  in  from 
his  valuable  Little  Minook  property  for  the  night  only,  had 
to  pay  fifteen  dollars  for  his  mail.  When  he  opened  it,  he 
found  he  had  one  home  letter,  written  seven  months  before, 
eight  notes  of  inquiry,  and  six  advertisements. 

Maudie  had  put  her  letters  unopened  in  her  pocket,  and  told 
the  man  at  the  scales  to  weigh  out  two  dollars  to  Windy,  and 
charge  to  her.  Then  she  began  to  talk  to  the  Colonel. 

The  Boy  observed  with  scant  patience  that  his  pardner 
treated  Maudie  with  a  consideration  he  could  hardly  have 
bettered  had  she  been  the  first  lady  in  the  land.  "Must  be  be 
cause  she's  little  and  cute-lookin'.  The  Colonel's  a  sentimental 
ol'  goslin'." 

"What  makes  you  so  polite  to  that  dance-hall  girl?"  mut 
tered  the  Boy  aside.  "She's  no  good." 

"Reckon  it  won't  make  her  any  better  for  me  to  be  impolite 
to  her,"  returned  the  Colonel  calmly. 

But  finding  she  could  not  detach  the  Kentuckian  from  his 
pardner,  Maudie  bestowed  her  attention  elsewhere.  French 
Charlie  was  leaning  back  against  the  wall,  his  hands  jammed 
in  his  pockets,  and  his  big  slouch-hat  pulled  over  his  brows. 
Under  the  shadow  of  the  wide  brim  furtively  he  watched  the 
girl.  Another  woman  came  up  and  asked  him  to  dance.  He 
shook  his  head. 

"Reckon  we'd  better  go  and  knock  up  Blandford  Keith  and 

302 


MINOOK 

get  a  bed,"  suggested  the  Boy  regretfully,  looking  round  for 
the  man  who  had  a  cinch  up  on  Glory  Hallelujah,  and  wouldn't 
tell  you  how  to  get  there. 

"Reckon  we'd  better,"  agreed  the  Colonel. 

But  they  halted  near  Windy  Jim,  who  was  refreshing  him 
self,  and  at  the  same  time  telling  Dawson  news,  or  Dawson 
lies,  as  the  company  evidently  thought.  And  still  the  men 
crowded  round,  listening  greedily,  just  as  everybody  devours 
certain  public  prints  without  ceasing  to  impeach  their  veracity. 
Lacking  newspapers  at  which  to  pish !  and  pshaw !  they  listened 
to  Windy  Jim,  disbelieving  the  only  unvarnished  tale  that  gen 
tleman  had  ever  told.  For  Windy,  with  the  story-teller's  in 
stinct,  knew  marvellous  enough  would  sound  the  bare  recital 
of  those  awful  Dawson  days  when  the  unprecedented  early 
winter  stopped  the  provision  boats  at  Circle,  and  starvation 
stared  the  over-populated  Klondyke  in  the  face. 

Having  disposed  of  their  letters,  the  miners  crowded  round 
the  courier  to  hear  how  the  black  business  ended — matter  of 
special  interest  to  Minook,  for  the  population  here  was  com 
posed  chiefly  of  men  who,  by  the  Canadian  route,  had  managed 
to  get  to  Dawson  in  the  autumn,  in  the  early  days  of  the  famine 
scare,  and  who,  after  someone's  panic-proposal  to  raid  the  great 
Stores,  were  given  free  passage  down  the  river  on  the  last  two 
steamers  to  run. 

When  the  ice  stopped  them  (one  party  at  Circle,  the  other 
at  Fort  Yukon),  they  had  held  up  the  supply  boats  and  helped 
themselves  under  the  noses  of  Captain  Ray  and  Lieutenant 
Richardson,  U.  S.  A. 

"Yes,  sir,"  McGinty  had  explained,  "we  Minook  boys  was 
all  in  that  picnic.  But  we  give  our  bond  to  pay  up  at  mid 
summer,  and  after  the  fun  was  over  we  dropped  down  here." 

He  pushed  nearer  to  Windy  to  hear  how  it  had  fared  with 
the  men  who  had  stayed  behind  in  the  Klondyke — how  the 
excitement  flamed  and  menaced;  how  Agent  Hansen  of  the 
Alaska  Commercial  Company,  greatest  of  the  importers  of  pro 
visions  and  Arctic  equipment,  rushed  about,  half  crazy,  making 
speeches  all  along  the  Dawson  River  front,  urging  the  men  to 
fly  for  their  lives,  back  to  the  States  or  up  to  Circle,  before  the 
ice  stopped  moving! 

But  too  many  of  these  men  had  put  everything  they  had  on 
earth  into  getting  here;  too  many  had  abandoned  costly  outfits 
on  the  awful  Pass,  or  in  the  boiling  eddies  of  the  White  Horse 

303 


THE   MAGNETIC   NORTH 

Rapids,  paying  any  price  in  money  or  in  pain  to  get  to  the  gold- 
fields  before  navigation  closed.  And  now!  here  was  Hansen, 
with  all  the  authority  of  the  A.  C.,  shouting  wildly:  "Quick, 
quick!  go  up  or  down.  It's  a  race  for  life!" 

Windy  went  on  to  tell  how  the  horror  of  the  thing  dulled 
the  men,  how  they  stood  about  the  Dawson  streets  helpless  as 
cattle,  paralysed  by  the  misery  that  had  overtaken  them.  All 
very  well  for  Hansen  to  try  to  relieve  the  congestion  at  the 
Klondyke — the  poor  devils  knew  that  to  go  either  way,  up  or 
down,  as  late  as  this  meant  death.  Then  it  was  whispered  how 
Captain  Constantine  of  the  Mounted  Police  was  getting  ready 
to  drive  every  man  out  of  the  Klondyke,  at  the  point  of  the 
bayonet,  who  couldn't  show  a  thousand  pounds  of  provisions. 
Yet  most  of  the  Klondykers  still  stood  about  dazed,  silent,  wait 
ing  for  the  final  stroke. 

A  few  went  up,  over  the  way  they  had  come,  to  die  after  all 
on  the  Pass,  and  some  went  down,  their  white,  despairing  faces 
disappearing  round  the  Klondyke  bend  as  they  drifted  with 
the  grinding  ice  towards  the  Arctic  Circle,  where  the  food  was 
caught  in  the  floes.  And  how  one  came  back,  going  by  with 
out  ever  turning  his  head,  caring  not  a  jot  for  Golden  Dawson, 
serene  as  a  king  in  his  capital,  solitary,  stark  on  a  little  island 
of  ice. 

"Lord!  it  was  better,  after  all,  at  the  Big  Chimney." 

"Oh,  it  wasn't  so  bad,"  said  Windy  cheerfully.  "About  the 
time  one  o'  the  big  companies  announced  they  was  sold  out  o' 
everything  but  sugar  and  axe-handles,  a  couple  o'  steamers 
pushed  their  way  in  through  the  ice.  After  all,  just  as  old  J.  J. 
Healy  said,  it  was  only  a  question  of  rations  and  proper  distri 
bution.  Why,  flour's  fell  from  one  hundred  and  twenty  dollars 
a  sack  to  fifty!  And  there's  a  big  new  strike  on  the  island 
opposite  Ensley  Creek.  They  call  it  Monte  Cristo;  pay  runs 
eight  dollars  to  the  pan.  Lord!  Dawson's  the  greatest  gold 
camp  on  the  globe." 

But  no  matter  what  befell  at  Dawson,  business  must  be  kept 
brisk  at  Minook.  The  pianola  started  up,  and  Buckin'  Billy, 
who  called  the  dances,  began  to  bawl  invitations  to  the  com 
pany  to  come  and  waltz. 

Windy  interrupted  his  own  music  for  further  refreshment, 
pausing  an  instant,  with  his  mouth  full  of  dried-apple  pie  to  say : 

"Congress  has  sent  out  a  relief  expedition  to  Dawson." 

"No!" 

304 


MINOOK 

"Fact!     Reindeer." 

"Ye  mean  peacocks." 

"Mean  reindeer!  It's  all  in  the  last  paper  come  over  the 
Pass.  A  Reindeer  Relief  Expedition  to  save  them  poor  starvin' 
Klondykers." 

"Haw,  haw!    Good  old  Congress!" 

"Well,  did  you  find  any  o'  them  reindeer  doin'  any  relievin' 
round  Dawson?" 

"Naw!  What  do  you  think?  Takes  more'n  Congress  to 
git  over  the  Dalton  Trail";  and  Windy  returned  to  his  pie. 

Talking  earnestly  with  Mr.  Butts,  French  Charlie  pushed 
heavily  past  the  Boy  on  his  way  to  the  bar.  From  his  gait  it 
was  clear  that  he  had  made  many  similar  visits  that  evening. 
In  his  thick  Canadian  accent  Charlie  was  saying: 

"I  blowed  out  a  lot  o'  dust  for  dat  girl.  She's  wearin'  my 
di'mon'  now,  and  won't  look  at  me.  Say,  Butts,  I'll  give  you 
twenty  dollars  if  you  sneak  dat  ring." 

"Done  with  you,"  says  Butts,  as  calm  as  a  summer's  day. 
In  two  minutes  Maudie  was  twirling  about  with  the  handy 
gentleman,  who  seemed  as  accomplished  with  his  toes  as  he  was 
reputed  to  be  with  his  fingers. 

He  came  up  with  her  presently  and  ordered  some  wine. 

"Wine,  b-gosh!"  muttered  Charlie  in  drunken  appreciation, 
propping  himself  against  the  wall  again,  and  always  slipping 
sideways.  "V  tink  he's  d'  fines'  sor'  fella,  don't  you?  Hein? 
Wai'  'n  see!" 

The  wine  disappears  and  the  two  go  off  for  another  dance. 
Inside  of  ten  minutes  up  comes  Butts  and  passes  something  to 
French  Charlie.  That  gentleman  laughs  tipsily,  and,  leaning 
on  Butts's  arm,  makes  his  way  to  the  scales. 

"Weigh  out  twen'  dollars  dis  gen'man,"  he  ordered. 

Butts  pulled  up  the  string  of  his  poke  and  slipped  to  one  side, 
as  noise  reached  the  group  at  the  bar  of  a  commotion  at  the 
other  end  of  the  saloon. 

"My  ring!  it's  gone!  My  diamond  ring!  Now,  you've  got 
it";  and  Maudie  came  running  out  from  the  dancers  after  one 
of  the  Woodworth  gentlemen. 

Charlie  straightened  up  and  grinned,  almost  sobered  in  ex 
cess  of  joy  and  satisfied  revenge.  The  Woodworth  gentleman 
is  searched  and  presently  exonerated.  Everybody  is  told  of  the 
loss,  every  nook  and  corner  investigated.  Maudie  goes  down 
on  hands  and  knees,  even  creeping  behind  the  bar. 

305 


THE    MAGNETIC    NORTH 

"I  know'd  she  go  on  somethin'  awful,"  said  Charlie,  so  glee 
fully  that  Bonsor,  the  proprietor  of  the  Gold  Nugget,  began 
to  look  upon  him  with  suspicion. 

When  Maudie  reappeared,  flushed,  and  with  disordered  hair, 
after  her  excursion  under  the  counter,  French  Charlie  con 
fronted  her. 

"Looky  here.  You  treated  me  blame  mean,  Maudie;  but 
wha'  d'  you  say  if  I's  to  off'  a  rewar'  for  dat  ring?" 

''Reward!     A  healthy  lot  o'  good  that  would  do." 

"Oh,  very  well;  'f  you  don'  wan'  de  ring  back " 

"I  do,  Charlie." 

He  hammered  on  the  bar. 

"Ev'body  gottah  look  fur  ring.  I  give  a  hunner  'n  fifty 
dollah  rewar'." 

Maudie  stared  at  the  princely  offer.  But  instantly  the  com 
motion  was  greater  than  ever.  "Ev'body"  did  what  was  ex 
pected  of  them,  especially  Mr.  Butts.  They  flew  about,  look 
ing  in  possible  and  impossible  places,  laughing,  screaming,  tum 
bling  over  one  another.  In  the  midst  of  the  uproar  French 
Charlie  lurches  up  to  Maudie. 

"Dat  look  anyt'in'  like  it?" 

"Oh,  Charlie  1" 

She  looked  the  gratitude  she  could  not  on  the  instant  speak. 

In  the  midst  of  the  noise  and  movement  the  mackinaw  man 
said  to  the  Boy: 

"Don't  know  as  you'd  care  to  see  my  new  prospect  hole?" 

"Course  I'd  like  to  see  it." 

"Well,  come  along  to-morrow  afternoon.  Meet  me  here 
'bout  two.  Don't  say  nothin'  to  nobody,"  he  added  still  lower. 
"We  don't  want  to  get  overrun  before  we've  recorded." 

The  Boy  could  have  hugged  that  mackinaw  man. 

Outside  it  was  broad  day,  but  still  the  Gold  Nugget  lights 
were  flaring  and  the  pianola  played. 

They  had  learned  from  the  bar-tender  where  to  find  Bland- 
ford  Keith — "In  the  worst-looking  shack  in  the  camp."  But 
"It  looks  good  to  me,"  said  the  Boy,  as  they  went  in  and 
startled  Keith  out  of  his  first  sleep.  The  man  that  brings  you 
letters  before  the  ice  goes  out  is  your  friend.  Keith  helped 
them  to  bring  in  their  stuff,  and  was  distinctly  troubled  because 
the  travellers  wouldn't  take  his  bunk.  They  borrowed  some 
dry  blankets  and  went  to  sleep  on  the  floor. 

It  was  after  two  when  they  woke  in  a  panic,  lest  the  mack- 

306 


MINOOK 

inaw  man  should  have  gone  without  them.  While  the  Colonel 
got  breakfast  the  Boy  dashed  round  to  the  Gold  Nugget,  found 
Si  McGinty  playing  craps,  and  would  have  brought  him  back 
in  triumph  to  breakfast — but  no,  he  would  "wait  down  yonder 
below  the  Gold  Nugget,  and  don't  you  say  nothin'  yit  about 
where  we're  goin',  or  we'll  have  the  hull  town  at  our  heels." 

About  twelve  miles  "back  in  the  mountains"  is  a  little  gulch 
that  makes  into  a  big  one  at  right  angles. 

"That's  the  pup  where  my  claim  is." 

'prhe  what?" 

"Little  creek;  call  'em  pups  here." 

Down  in  the  desolate  hollow  a  ragged  A  tent,  sagged  away 
from  the  prevailing  wind.  Inside,  they  found  that  the  canvas 
was  a  mere  shelter  over  a  prospect  hole.  A  rusty  stove  was 
almost  buried  by  the  heap  of  earth  and  gravel  thrown  up  from 
a  pit  several  feet  deep. 

"This  is  a  winter  diggins  y'  see,"  observed  the  mackinaw 
man  with  pride.  "It's  only  while  the  ground  is  froze  solid 
you  can  do  this  kind  o'  minin'.  I've  had  to  burn  the  ground 
clean  down  to  bed-rock.  Yes,  sir,  thawed  my  way  inch  by  inch 
to  the  old  channel." 

"Well,  and  what  have  you  found?" 

"S'pose  we  pan  some  o'  this  dirt  and  see." 

His  slow  caution  impressed  his  hearers.  They  made  up  a 
fire,  melted  snow,  and  half  filled  a  rusty  pan  with  gravel  and 
soil  from  the  bottom  of  the  pit. 

"Know  how  to  pan?" 

The  Colonel  and  the  Boy  took  turns.  They  were  much 
longer  at  it  than  they  ever  were  again,  but  the  mackinaw  man 
seemed  not  in  the  least  hurry.  The  impatience  was  all  theirs. 
When  they  had  got  down  to  fine  sand,  "Look!"  screamed  the 
Boy. 

"By  the  Lord!"  said  the  Colonel  softly. 

"/,  that " 

"Looks  like  you  got  some  colours  there.  Gosh!  Then  I 
ain't  been  dreamin'  after  all." 

]'Hey?     Dreamin'?     What?     Look!     Look!" 

"That's  why  I  brought  you  gen'l'men  out,"  says  the  mack 
inaw  man.  "I  was  afraid  to  trust  my  senses — thought  I  was 
gettin'  wheels  in  my  head." 

"Lord!  look  at  the  gold!" 

They  took  about  a  dollar  and  twenty  cents  out  of  that  pan. 

307 


THE    MAGNETIC    NORTH 

"Now  see  here,  you  gen'l'men  jest  lay  low  about  this  strike." 
His  anxiety  seemed  intense.  They  reassured  him. 

"I  don't  suppose  you  mind  our  taking  up  a  claim  apiece  next 
you,"  pleaded  the  Boy,  "since  the  law  don't  allow  you  to  stake 
more'n  one." 

"Oh,  that's  all  right,"  said  the  mackinaw  man,  with  an  air 
of  princely  generosity.  "And  I  don't  mind  if  you  like  to  let 
in  a  few  of  your  particular  pals,  if  you'll  agree  to  help  me 
organise  a  district.  An'  I'll  do  the  recordin'  fur  ye." 

Really,  this  mackinaw  man  was  a  trump.  The  Colonel  took 
twenty-five  dollars  out  of  a  roll  of  bills  and  handed  it  to  him. 

"What's  this  fur?" 

"For  bringing  us  out — for  giving  us  the  tip.  I'd  make  it 
more,  but  till  I  get  to  Dawson " 

"Oh!"  laughed  the  mackinaw  man,  "that's  all  right,"  and 
indifferently  he  tucked  the  bills  into  his  baggy  trousers. 

The  Colonel  felt  keenly  the  inadequacy  of  giving  a  man 
twenty-five  dollars  who  had  just  introduced  him  to  hundreds 
of  thousands — and  who  sat  on  the  edge  of  his  own  gold-mine — 
but  it  was  only  "on  account." 

The  Colonel  staked  No.  i  Above  the  Discovery,  and  the 
Boy  was  in  the  act  of  staking  No.  i  Below  when 

"No,  no,"  says  that  kind  mackinaw  man,  "the  heavier  gold 
will  be  found  further  up  the  gulch — stake  No.  2  Above";  and 
he  told  them  natural  facts  about  placer-mining  that  no  after 
expert  knowledge  could  ever  better.  But  he  was  not  as  happy 
as  a  man  should  be  who  has  just  struck  pay. 

"Fact  is,  it's  kind  of  upsettin'  to  find  it  so  rich  here." 

"Give  you  leave  to  upset  me  that  way  all  day." 

"Y?  see,  I  bought  another  claim  over  yonder  where  I  done 
a  lot  o'  work  last  summer  and  fall.  Built  a  cabin  and  put  up 
a  sluice.  I  got  to  be  up  there  soon  as  the  ice  goes  out.  Don't 
see  how  I  got  time  to  do  my  assessment  here  too.  Wish  I  was 
twins." 

"Why  don't  you  sell  this?" 

"Guess  I'll  have  to  part  with  a  share  in  it."  He  sighed 
and  looked  lovingly  into  the  hole.  "Minin's  an  awful  gamble," 
he  said,  as  though  admonishing  Si  McGinty;  "but  we  know 
there's  gold  just  there." 

The  Colonel  and  the  Boy  looked  at  their  claims  and  felt  the 
pinch  of  uncertainty. 

308 


MINOOK 

"What  do  you  want  for  a  share  in  your  claim,  Mr.  Mc- 
Ginty?" 

"Oh,  well,  as  I  say,  I'll  let  it  go  reasonable  to  a  feller  who'd 
do  the  assessment,  on  account  o'  my  having  that  other  property. 
Say  three  thousand  dollars." 

The  Colonel  shook  his  head. 

"Why,  it's  dirt-cheap!  Two  men  can  take  a  hundred  and 
fifty  dollars  a  day  out  of  that  claim  without  outside  help.  And 
properly  worked,  the  summer  ought  to  show  forty  thousand 
dollars." 

On  the  way  home  McGinty  found  he  could  let  the  thing  go 
for  "two  thousand  spot  cash." 

"Make  it  quarter  shares,"  suggested  the  Boy,  thrilled  at  such 
a  chance,  "and  the  Colonel  and  I  together  '11  raise  five  hundred 
and  do  the  rest  of  the  assessment  work  for  you." 

But  they  were  nearly  back  at  Minook  before  McGinty  said, 
"Well,  I  ain't  twins,  and  I  can't  personally  work  two  gold 
mines,  so  we'll  call  it  a  deal."  And  the  money  passed  that 
night. 

And  the  word  passed,  too,  to  an  ex-Governor  of  a  Western 
State  and  his  satellites,  newly  arrived  from  Woodworth,  and 
to  a  party  of  men  just  down  from  Circle  City.  McGinty 
seemed  more  inclined  to  share  his  luck  with  strangers  than  with 
the  men  he  had  wintered  amongst.  "Mean  lot,  these  Minook 
fellers."  But  the  return  of  the  ex-Governor  and  so  large  a 
party  from  quietly  staking  their  claims,  roused  Minook  to  a 
sense  that  "somethin'  was  goin'  on." 

By  McGinty 's  advice,  the  strangers  called  a  secret  meeting, 
and  elected  McGinty  recorder.  All  the  claim-holders  registered 
their  properties  and  the  dates  of  location.  The  Recorder  gave 
everybody  his  receipt,  and  everybody  felt  it  was  cheap  at  five 
dollars.  Then  the  meeting  proceeded  to  frame  a  code  of  Laws 
for  the  new  district,  stipulating  the  number  of  feet  permitted 
each  claim  (being  rigidly  kept  by  McGinty  within  the  limits 
provided  by  the  United  States  Laws  on  the  subject),  and  de 
creeing  the  amount  of  work  necessary  to  hold  a  claim  a  year, 
settling  questions  of  water  rights,  etc.,  etc. 

Not  until  Glory  Hallelujah  Gulch  was  a  full-fledged  mining 
district  did  Minook  in  general  know  what  was  in  the  wind. 
The  next  day  the  news  was  all  over  camp. 

If  McGinty's  name  inspired  suspicion,  the  Colonel's  and  the 
ex-Governor's  reassured,  the  Colonel  in  particular  (he  had  al- 

309 


THE   MAGNETIC   NORTH 

ready  established  that  credit  that  came  so  easy  to  him)  being 
triumphantly  quoted  as  saying,  "Glory  Hallelujah  Gulch  was 
the  richest  placer  he'd  ever  struck."  Nobody  added  that  it  was 
also  the  only  one.  But  this  matter  of  a  stampede  is  not  con 
trolled  by  reason;  it  is  a  thing  of  the  nerves;  while  you  are 
ridiculing  someone  else  your  legs  are  carrying  you  off  on  the 
same  errand. 

In  a  mining-camp  the  saloon  is  the  community's  heart.  How 
ever  little  a  man  cares  to  drink,  or  to  dance,  or  to  play  cards, 
he  goes  to  the  saloon  as  to  the  one  place  where  he  may  meet 
his  fellows,  do  business,  and  hear  the  news.  The  saloon  is  the 
Market  Place.  It  is  also  the  Cafe,  the  Theatre,  the  Club,  the 
Stock  Exchange,  the  Barber's  Shop,  the  Bank — in  short,  you 
might  as  well  be  dead  as  not  be  a  patron  of  the  Gold  Nugget. 

Yet  neither  the  Colonel  nor  the  Boy  had  been  there  since  the 
night  of  their  arrival.  On  returning  from  that  first  triumphant 
inspection  of  McGinty's  diggings,  the  Colonel  had  been  handed 
a  sealed  envelope  without  address. 

"How  do  you  know  it's  for  me?" 

"She  said  it  was  for  the  Big  Chap,"  answered  Blandford 
Keith. 

The  Colonel  read: 

"Come  to  the  Gold  Nugget  as  soon  as  you  get  this,  and  hear 
something  to  your  advantage. — MAUDIE." 

So  he  had  stayed  away,  having  plenty  to  occupy  him  in  help 
ing  to  organise  the  new  district.  He  was  strolling  past  the 
saloon  the  morning  after  the  Secret  Meeting,  when  down  into 
the  street,  like  a  kingfisher  into  a  stream,  Maudie  darted,  and 
held  up  the  Colonel. 

"Ain't  you  had  my  letter?" 

"Oh — a — yes — but  I've  been  busy." 

"Guess  so!"  she  said  with  undisguised  scorn.  "Where's  Si 
McGinty?" 

"Reckon  he's  out  at  the  gulch.  I've  got  to  go  down  to  the 
A.  C.  now  and  buy  some  grub  to  take  out."  He  was  moving  on. 

"Take  wThere?"     She  followed  him  up. 

"To  McGinty's  gulch." 

"What  for?" 

"Why,  to  live  on,  while  my  pardner  and  I  do  the  assessment 
work."  ' 

310 


MINOOK 

"Then  it's  true!  McGinty's  been  fillin'  you  full  o'  guff." 
The  Colonel  looked  at  her  a  little  haughtily. 

"See  here:  I  ain't  busy,  as  a  rule,  about  other  folks'  funerals, 

but "  She  looked  at  him  curiously.  "It's  cold  here;  come 

in  a  minute."  There  was  no  hint  of  vulgar  nonsense,  but  some 
thing  very  earnest  in  the  pert  little  face  that  had  been  so  pretty. 
They  went  in.  "Order  drinks,"  she  said  aside,  "and  don't  talk 
before  Jimmie." 

She  chaffed  the  bartender,  and  leaned  idly  against  the  coun 
ter.  When  a  group  of  returned  stampeders  came  in,  she  sat 
down  at  a  rough  little  faro-table,  leaned  her  elbows  on  it,  sipped 
the  rest  of  the  stuff  in  her  tumbler  through  a  straw,  and  in  the 
shelter  of  her  arms  set  the  straw  in  a  knot-hole  near  the  table- 
leg,  and  spirited  the  bad  liquor  down  under  the  board. 

"Don't  give  me  away,"  she  said. 

The  Colonel  knew  she  got  a  commission  on  the  drinks,  and 
was  there  to  bring  custom.  He  nodded. 

"I  hoped  I'd  see  you  in  time,"  she  went  on  hurriedly — "in 
time  to  warn  you  that  McGinty  was  givin'  you  a  song  and 
dance." 

"Hey?" 

"Tellin'  you  a  ghost  story." 

"You  mean " 

"Can't  you  understand  plain  English?"  she  said,  irritated  at 
such  obtuseness.  "I  got  worried  thinkin'  it  over,  for  it  was 

me  told  that  pardner  o'  yours "  She  smiled  wickedly.  "I 

expected  McGinty'd  have  some  fun  with  the  young  feller,  but 
I  didn't  expect  you'd  be  such  a  Hatter."  She  wound  up  with 
the  popular  reference  to  lunacy. 

The  Colonel  pulled  up  his  great  figure  with  some  pomposity. 

"I  don't  understand." 

"Any  feller  can  see  that.  You're  just  the  kind  the  McGintys 
are  layin'  for."  She  looked  round  to  see  that  nobody  was 
within  earshot.  "Si's  been  layin'  round  all  winter  waitin'  for 
the  spring  crop  o'  suckers." 

"If  you  mean  there  isn't  gold  out  at  McGinty's  gulch,  you're 
wrong;  I've  seen  it." 

"Course  you  have." 

He  paused.  She,  sweeping  the  Gold  Nugget  with  vigilant 
eye,  went  on  in  a  voice  of  indulgent  contempt. 

"Some  of  'em  load  up  an  old  shot-gun  with  a  little  charge 
o'  powder  and  a  quarter  of  an  ounce  of  gold-dust  on  top,  fire 


THE    MAGNETIC   NORTH 

that  into  the  prospect  hole  a  dozen  times  or  so,  and  then  take 
a  sucker  out  to  pan  the  stuff.  But  I  bet  Si  didn't  take  any 
more  trouble  with  you  than  to  have  some  colours  in  his  mouth, 
to  spit  in  the  shovel  or  the  pan,  when  you  wasn't  lookin' — just 
enough  to  drive  you  crazy,  and  get  you  to  boost  him  into  a 
Recordership.  Why,  he's  cleaned  up  a  tub  o'  money  in  fees 
since  you  struck  the  town." 

The  Colonel  moved  uneasily,  but  faith  with  him  died  hard. 

"McGinty  strikes  me  as  a  very  decent  sort  of  man,  with  a 
knowledge  of  practical  mining  and  of  mining  law " 

Maudie  made  a  low  sound  of  impatience,  and  pushed  her 
empty  glass  aside. 

"Oh,  very  well,  go  your  own  way!  Waste  the  whole  spring 
doin'  Si's  assessment  for  him.  And  when  the  bottom  drops 
out  o'  recording  you'll  see  Si  gettin'  some  cheechalko  to  buy  an 
interest  in  that  rottin'  hole  o'  his " 

Her  jaw  fell  as  she  saw  the  Colonel's  expression. 

"He's  got  you  too!"  she  exclaimed. 

"Well,  didn't  you  say  yourself  that  night  you'd  be  glad  if 
McGinty  'd  let  you  a  lay?" 

"Pshaw!  I  was  only  givin'  you  a  song  and  dance.  Not  you 
neither,  but  that  pardner  o'  yours.  I  thought  I'd  learn  that 
young  man  a  lesson.  But  I  didn't  know  you'd  get  flim-flammed 
out  o'  your  boots.  Thought  you  looked  like  you  got  some 
sense." 

Unmoved  by  the  Colonel's  aspect  of  offended  dignity,  faintly 
dashed  with  doubt,  she  hurried  on: 

"Before  you  go  shellin'  out  any  more  cash,  or  haulin'  stuff 
to  Glory  Hallelujah,  just  you  go  down  that  prospect  hole  o' 
McGinty's  when  McGinty  ain't  there,  and  see  how  many 
colours  you  can  ketch." 

The  Colonel  looked  at  her. 

"Well,  I'll  do  it,"  he  said  slowly,  "and  if  you're  right " 

"Oh,  I'm  all  right,"  she  laughed ;  "an'  I  know  my  McGinty 
backwards.  But" — she  frowned  with  sudden  anger — "it  ain't 
Maudie's  pretty  way  to  interfere  with  cheechalkos  gettin'  fooled. 
I  ain't  proud  o'  the  trouble  I've  taken,  and  I'll  thank  you  not 
to  mention  it.  Not  to  that  pardner  o'  yours — not  to  nobody." 

She  stuck  her  nose  in  the  air,  and  waved  her  hand  to  French 
Charlie,  who  had  just  then  opened  the  door  and  put  his  head 
in.  He  came  straight  over  to  her,  and  she  made  room  for  him 
on  the  bench. 

312 


MINOOK 

The  Colonel  went  out  full  of  thought.  He  listened  atten 
tively  when  the  ex-Governor,  that  evening  at  Keith's,  said 
something  about  the  woman  up  at  the  Gold  Nugget — "Maudie 
— what's  the  rest  of  her  name?" 

"Don't  believe  anybody  knows.  Oh,  yes,  they  must,  too;  it'll 
be  on  her  deeds.  She's  got  the  best  hundred  by  fifty  foot  lot  in 
the  place.  Held  it  down  last  fall  herself  with  a  six-shooter,  and 
she  owns  that  cabin  on  the  corner.  Isn't  a  better  business  head 
in  Minook  than  Maudie's.  She  got  a  lay  on  a  good  property  o' 
Salaman's  last  fall,  and  I  guess  she's  got  more  ready  dust  even 
now,  before  the  washin'  begins,  than  anybody  here  except  Sala- 
man  and  the  A.  C.  There  ain't  a  man  in  Minook  who  wouldn't 
listen  respectfully  to  Maudie's  views  on  any  business  proposition 
— once  he  was  sure  she  wasn't  fooling." 

And  Keith  told  a  string  of  stories  to  show  how  the  Minook 
miners  admired  her  astuteness,  and  helped  her  unblushingly  to 
get  the  better  of  one  another. 

The  Colonel  stayed  in  Minook  till  the  recording  was  all 
done,  and  McGinty  got  tired  of  living  on  flap-jacks  at  the 
gulch. 

The  night  McGinty  arrived  in  town  the  Colonel,  not  even 
taking  the  Boy  into  his  confidence,  hitched  up  and  departed  for 
the  new  district. 

He  came  back  the  next  day  a  sadder  and  a  wiser  man.  They 
had  been  sold. 

McGinty  was  quick  to  gather  that  someone  must  have  given 
him  away.  It  had  only  been  a  question  of  time,  after  all.  He 
had  lined  his  pockets,  and  could  take  the  new  turn  in  his  affairs 
with  equanimity. 

"Wait  till  the  steamers  begin  to  run,"  Maudie  said;  "Mc 
Ginty  '11  play  that  game  with  every  new  boat-load.  Oh, 
McGinty  '11  make  another  fortune.  Then  he'll  go  to  Dawson 
and  blow  it  in.  Well,  Colonel,  sorry  you  ain't  cultivatin' 
rheumatism  in  a  damp  hole  up  at  Glory  Hallelujah?" 

"I — I  am  very  much  obliged  to  you  for  saving  me  from " 

She  cut  him  short.  "You  see  you've  got  time  now  to  look 
about  you  for  something  really  good,  if  there  is  anything  outside 
of  Little  Minook." 

"It  was  very  kind  of  you  to " 

"No  it  wasn't,"  she  said  shortly. 

The  Colonel  took  out  a  roll  of  bank  bills  and  selected  one, 

313 


THE   MAGNETIC   NORTH 

folded  it  small,  and  passed  it  towards  her  under  the  ledge  of 
the  table.  She  glanced  down. 

"Oh,  I  don't  want  that." 

"Yes,  please." 

"Tell  you  I  don't." 

"You've  done  me  a  very  good  turn ;  saved  me  a  lot  of  time 
and  expense." 

Slowly  she  took  the  money,  as  one  thinking  out  something. 

"Where  do  you  come  from?"  he  asked  suddenly. 

'  'Frisco.     I  was  in  the  chorus  at  the  Alcazar." 

"What  made  you  go  into  the  chorus?" 

"Got  tired  o'  life  on  a  sheep-ranch.  All  work  and  no  play. 
Never  saw  a  soul.  Seen  plenty  since." 

"Got  any  people  belonging  to  you?" 

"Got  a  kind  of  a  husband." 

"A  kind  of  a  husband?" 

"Yes — the  kind  you'd  give  away  with  a  pound  o'  tea." 

The  little  face,  full  of  humourous  contempt  and  shrewd 
scorn,  sobered ;  she  flung  a  black  look  round  the  saloon,  and  her 
eyes  came  back  to  the  Colonel's  face. 

"I've  got  a  girl,"  she  said,  and  a  sudden  light  flashed  across 
her  frowning  as  swiftly  as  a  meteor  cuts  down  along  a  darkened 
sky.  "Four  years  old  in  June.  She  ain't  goin'  into  no  chorus, 
bet  your  life!  She's  going  to  have  money,  and  scads  o'  things 
I  ain't  never  had." 

That  night  the  Colonel  and  the  Boy  agreed  that,  although 
they  had  wasted  some  valuable  time  and  five  hundred  and 
twenty-five  dollars  on  McGinty,  they  still  had  a  chance  of 
making  their  fortunes  before  the  spring  rush. 

The  next  day  they  went  eight  miles  out  in  slush  and  in  alter 
nate  rain  and  sunshine,  to  Little  Minook  Creek,  where  the  big 
gest  paying  claims  were  universally  agreed  to  be.  They  found 
a  place  even  more  ragged  and  desolate  than  McGinty's,  where 
smoke  was  rising  sullenly  from  underground  fires  and  the  smell 
of  burning  wood  filled  the  air,  the  ground  turned  up  and  dotted 
at  intervals  with  piles  of  frozen  gravel  that  had  been  hoisted 
from  the  shafts  by  windlass,  forlorn  little  cabins  and  tents  scat 
tered  indiscriminately,  a  vast  number  of  empty  bottles  and  cans 
sown  broadcast,  and,  early  as  it  was,  a  line  of  sluices  upon  Sal- 
aman's  claim. 

They  had  heard  a  great  deal  about  the  dark,  keen-looking 
young  Oregon  lawyer,  for  Salaman  was  the  most  envied  man 

3H 


MINOOK 

in  Minook.  "Come  over  to  my  dump  and  get  some  nuggets," 
says  Mr.  Salaman,  as  in  other  parts  of  the  world  a  man  will 
say,  "Come  into  the  smoking-room  and  have  a  cigar." 

The  snow  was  melted  from  the  top  of  Salaman's  dump,  and 
his  guests  had  no  difficulty  in  picking  several  rough  little  bits  of 
gold  out  of  the  thawing  gravel.  It  was  an  exhilarating  occupa 
tion. 

"Come  down  my  shaft  and  see  my  cross-cuts";  and  they  fol 
lowed  him. 

He  pointed  out  how  the  frozen  gravel  made  solid  wall,  or  pil 
lar,  and  no  curbing  was  necessary.  With  the  aid  of  a  candle 
and  their  host's  urging,  they  picked  out  several  dollars'  worth 
of  coarse  gold  from  the  gravel  "in  place"  at  the  edge  of  the 
bed-rock.  When  he  had  got  his  guests  thoroughly  warmed  up : 

"Yes,  I  took  out  several  thousand  last  fall,  and  I'll  have 
twenty  thousand  more  out  of  my  first  summer  clean-up." 

"And  after  that?" 

"After  that  I'm  going  home.  I  wouldn't  stay  here  and  work 
this  way  and  live  this  way  another  wrinter,  not  for  twenty 
millions." 

"I'm  surprised  to  hear  you  talking  like  that,  sah." 

"Well,  you  won't  be  once  you  have  tried  it  yourself.  Mining 
up  here's  an  awful  gamble.  Colours  pretty  well  everywhere, 
and  a  few  flakes  of  flour  gold,  just  enough  to  send  the  average 
cheechalko  crazy,  but  no  real  'pay'  outside  of  this  little  gulch. 
And  even  here,  every  inch  has  been  scrambled  for — and  staked, 
too — and  lots  of  it  fought  over.  Men  died  here  in  the  fall 
defending  their  ground  from  the  jumpers — ground  that  hadn't 
a  dollar  in  it." 

"Well,  your  ground  was  worth  looking  after,  and  John  Dil 
lon's.  Which  is  his  claim?" 

Salaman  led  the  way  over  the  heaps  of  gravel  and  round  a 
windlass  to  No.  6,  admitting: 

"Oh,  yes,  Dillon  and  I,  and  a  few  others,  have  come  out  of  it 
all  right,  but  Lord !  it's  a  gamble." 

Dillon's  pardner,  Kennedy,  did  the  honours,  showing  the  Big 
Chimney  men  the  very  shaft  out  of  which  their  Christmas  heap 
of  gold  had  been  hoisted.  It  was  true  after  all.  For  the  fa- 
oured  there  was  "plenty  o'  gold — plenty  o'  gold." 

"But,"  said  Salaman,  "there  are  few  things  more  mysterious 
than  its  whereabouts  or  why  it  should  be  wThere  it  is.  Don't 
talk  to  me  about  mining  experts — we've  had  'em  here.  But 

315 


THE   MAGNETIC   NORTH 

who  can  explain  the  mystery  of  Minook?  There  are  six  claims 
in  all  this  country  that  pay  to  work.  The  pay  begins  in  No.  5 ; 
before  that,  nothing.  Just  up  yonder,  above  No.  10,  the  pay- 
streak  pinches  out.  No  mortal  knows  why.  A  whole  winter's 
toiling  and  moiling,  and  thousands  of  dollars  put  into  the 
ground,  haven't  produced  an  ounce  of  gold  above  that  claim 
or  below  No.  5.  I  tell  you  it's  an  awful  gamble.  Hunter 
Creek,  Hoosier,  Bear,  Big  Minook,  I  You,  Quail,  Alder,  Mike 
Hess,  Little  Nell — the  whole  blessed  country,  rivers,  creeks, 
pups,  and  all,  staked  for  a  radius  of  forty  miles  just  because 
there's  gold  here,  where  we're  standing." 

"You  don't  mean  there's  nothing  left!" 

"Nothing  within  forty  miles  that  somebody  hasn't  either 
staked  or  made  money  by  abandoning." 

"Made  money?" 

Salaman  laughed. 

"It's  money  in  your  pocket  pretty  nearly  every  time  you  don't 
take  up  a  claim.  Why,  on  Hunter  alone  they've  spent  twenty 
thousand  dollars  this  winter." 

"And  how  much  have  they  taken  out?" 

With  index-finger  and  thumb  Salaman  made  an  "O,"  and 
looked  shrewdly  through  it. 

"It's  an  awful  gamble,"  he  repeated  solemnly. 

"It  doesn't  seem  possible  there's  nothing  left,"  reiterated  the 
Boy,  incredulous  of  such  evil  luck. 

"Oh,  I'm  not  saying  you  may  not  make  something  by  getting 
on  some  other  fellow's  property,  if  you've  a  mind  to  pay  for 
it.  But  you'd  better  not  take  anything  on  trust.  I  wouldn't 
trust  my  own  mother  in  Alaska.  Something  in  the  air  here  that 
breeds  lies.  You  can't  believe  anybody,  yourself  included."  He 
laughed,  stooped,  and  picked  a  little  nugget  out  of  the  dump. 
"You'll  have  the  same  man  tell  you  an  entirely  different  story 
about  the  same  matter  within  an  hour.  Exaggeration  is  in  the 
air.  The  best  man  becomes  infected.  You  lie,  he  lies,  they 
all  lie.  Lots  of  people  go  crazy  in  Alaska  every  year — various 
causes,  but  it's  chiefly  from  believing  their  own  lies." 

They  returned  to  Rampart. 

It  was  decidedly  inconvenient,  considering  the  state  of  their 
finances,  to  have  thrown  away  that  five  hundred  dollars  on 
McGinty.  They  messed  with  Keith,  and  paid  their  two-thirds 
of  the  household  expenses;  but  Dawson  prices  reigned,  and  it 
was  plain  there  were  no  Dawson  prizes. 

316 


MINOOK 

"Well,"  said  the  Colonel  in  the  morning,  "we've  got  to  live 
somehow  till  the  ice  goes  out."  The  Boy  sat  thinking.  The 
Colonel  went  on:  "And  we  can't  go  to  Dawson  cleaned  out. 
No  tellin'  whether  there  are  any  proper  banks  there  or  whether 
my  Louisville  instructions  got  through.  Of  course,  we've  got 
the  dogs  yet." 

"Don't  care  how  soon  we  sell  Red  and  Spot." 

After  breakfast  the  Boy  tied  Nig  up  securely  behind  Keith's 
shack,  and  followed  the  Colonel  about  with  a  harassed  and 
watchful  air. 

"No  market  for  dogs  now,"  seemed  to  be  the  general  opinion, 
and  one  person  bore  up  well  under  the  news. 

But  the  next  day  a  man,  very  splashed  and  muddy,  and 
obviously  just  in  from  the  gulches,  stopped,  in  going  by  Keith's, 
and  looked  at  Nig. 

"Dog  market's  down,"  quoted  the  Boy  internally  to  hearten 
himself. 

"That  mahlemeut's  for  sale,"  observed  the  Colonel  to  the 
stranger. 

"These  are."  The  Boy  hastily  dragged  Red  and  Spot  upon 
the  scene. 

"How  much?" 

"Seventy-five  dollars  apiece." 

The  man  laughed.    "Ain't  you  heard  the  dog  season's  over?" 

"Well,  don't  you  count  on  livin'  to  the  next?" 

The  man  pushed  his  slouch  over  his  eyes  and  scratched  the 
back  of  his  head. 

"Unless  I  can  git  'em  reasonable,  dogs  ain't  worth  feedin'  till 
next  winter." 

"I  suppose  not,"  said  the  Boy  sympathetically;  "and  you 
can't  get  fish  here." 

"Right.  Feedin'  yourn  on  bacon,  I  s'pose,  at  forty  cents  a 
pound?' 

"Bacon  and  meal." 

"Guess  you'll  get  tired  o'  that." 

"Well,  we'd  sell  you  the  red  dog  for  sixty  dollars,"  admitted 
the  Boy. 

The  man  stared.  "Give  you  thirty  for  that  black  brute  over 
there." 

"Thirty  dollars  for  Nig!" 

"And  not  a cent  more.  Dogs  is  down."     He  could  get 

a  dozen  as  good  for  twenty-five  dollars. 

317 


THE    MAGNETIC   NORTH 

"Just  you  try."  But  the  Colonel,  grumbling,  said  thirty 
dollars  was  thirty  dollars,  and  he  reckoned  he'd  call  it  a  deal. 
The  Boy  stared,  opened  his  mouth  to  protest,  and  shut  it  with 
out  a  sound. 

The  Colonel  had  untied  Nig,  and  the  Leader,  unmindful  of 
the  impending  change  in  his  fortunes,  dashed  past  the  muddy 
man  from  the  gulch  with  such  impetuosity  that  he  knocked  that 
gentleman  off  his  legs.  He  picked  himself  up  scowling,  and  was 
feeling  for  his  gold  sack. 

"Got  scales  here?" 

"No  need  of  scales."  The  Boy  whipped  out  a  little  roll  of 
money,  counted  out  thirty  dollars,  and  held  it  towards  the 
Colonel.  "I  can  afford  to  keep  Nig  awhile  if  that's  his  figure." 

The  stranger  was  very  angry  at  this  new  turn  in  the  dog  deal. 
He  had  seen  that  Siwash  out  at  the  gulch,  heard  he  was  for  sale, 
and  came  in  "a  purpose  to  git  him." 

"The  dog  season's  over,"  said  the  Boy,  pulling  Nig's  ears  and 
smiling. 

"Oh,  is  it?  Well,  the  season  for  eatin'  meals  ain't  over. 
How  'm  I  to  git  grub  out  to  my  claim  without  a  dog?" 

"We  are  offerin'  you  a  couple  o'  capital  draught  dogs." 

"I  bought  that  there  Siwash,  and  I'd  a  paid  fur  him  if  he 
hadn't  a  knocked  me  down."  He  advanced  threateningly.  "An' 
if  you  ain't  huntin'  trouble " 

The  big  Colonel  stepped  in  and  tried  to  soothe  the  stranger, 
as  well  as  to  convince  him  that  this  was  not  the  party  to  try 
bullying  on. 

"I'll  give  you  forty  dollars  for  the  dog,"  said  the  muddy  man 
sulkily  to  the  Boy. 

"NO."  ;- 

"Give  you  fifty,  and  that's  my  last  word." 

"I  ain't  sellin'  dogs." 

He  cursed,  and  offered  five  dollars  more. 

"Can't  you  see  I  mean  it?  I'm  goin'  to  keep  that  dog — 
awhile." 

"S'pose  you  think  you'll  make  a  good  thing  o'  hirin'  him  out?" 

He  hadn't  thought  of  it,  but  he  said :  "Why  not?  Best  dog 
in  the  Yukon." 

"Well,  how  much?" 

"How  much  '11  you  give?" 

"Dollar  a  day." 

"Done." 


MINOOK 

So  Nig  was  hired  out,  Spot  was  sold  for  twenty  dollars,  and 
Red  later  for  fifteen. 

"Well,"  said  the  Colonel  when  they  went  in,  "I  didn't  know 
you  were  so  smart.  But  you  can't  live  here  on  Nig's  seven 
dollars  a  week." 

The  Boy  shook  his  head.  Their  miserable  canned  and  salted 
fare  cost  about  four  dollars  a  day  per  man. 

"I'm  goin'  to  take  Nig's  tip,"  he  said — "goin'  to  work." 

Easier  said  than  done.  In  their  high  rubber  boots  they 
splashed  about  Rampart  in  the  mild,  thawing  weather,  "tryin' 
to  scare  up  a  job,"  as  one  of  them  stopped  to  explain  to  every 
likely  person:  "Yes,  sah,  lookin'  for  any  sort  of  honourable  em 
ployment  till  the  ice  goes  out." 

"Nothin'  doin'." 

"Everything's  at  a  standstill." 

"Just  keepin'  body  and  soul  together  myself  till  the  boats 
come  in." 

They  splashed  out  to  the  gulch  on  the  same  errand. 

Yes,  wages  were  fifteen  dollars  a  day  when  they  were  busy. 
Just  nowr  they  were  waiting  for  the  thorough  thaw. 

"Should  think  it  was  pretty  thorough  without  any  waitin'." 

Salaman  shook  his  head.  "Only  in  the  town  and  tundra. 
The  frost  holds  on  to  the  deep  gulch  gravel  like  grim  death. 
And  the  diggin's  were  already  full  of  men  ready  to  work  for 
their  keep — at  least,  they  say  so,"  Salaman  added. 

Not  only  in  the  great  cities  is  human  flesh  and  blood  held 
cheaper  than  that  of  the  brutes.  Even  in  the  off  season,  when 
dogs  was  down,  Nig  could  get  his  dollar  a  day,  but  his  masters 
couldn't  get  fifty  cents. 


319 


CHAPTER  XVII 

THE    GREAT   STAMPEDE 

"Die  Menchen  suchen  und  suchen,  wollen  immer  was  Besseres  finden 
.  .  „  Gott  geb'  ihnen  nur  Geduld  !  " 

MEN  in  the  Gold  Nugget  were  talking  about  some  claims, 
staked  and  recorded  in  due  form,  but  on  which  the 
statutory  work  had  not  been  done. 

"What  about 'em?" 

"They're  jumpable  at  midnight." 

French  Charlie  invited  the  Boy  to  go  along,  but  neither  he 
nor  the  Colonel  felt  enthusiastic. 

"They're  no  good,  those  claims,  except  to  sell  to  some  sucker, 
and  we're  not  in  that  business  yet,  sah." 

They  had  just  done  twenty  miles  in  slush  and  mire,  and  their 
hearts  were  heavier  than  their  heels.  No,  they  would  go  to 
bed  while  the  others  did  the  jumpin',  and  next  day  they  would 
fill  Keith's  wood-bin. 

"So  if  work  does  turn  up  we  won't  have  to  worry  about  usin' 
up  his  firin'." 

In  the  chill  of  the  next  evening  they  were  cording  the  results 
of  the  day's  chopping,  when  Maudie,  in  fur  coat,  skirts  to  the 
knee,  and  high  rubber  boots,  appeared  behind  Keith's  shack. 
Without  deigning  to  notice  the  Boy,  "Ain't  seen  you  all  day," 
says  she  to  the  Colonel. 

"Busy,"  he  replied,  scarcely  looking  up. 

"Did  you  do  any  jumpin'  last  night?" 

"No." 

"That's  all  right." 

She  seated  herself  with  satisfaction  on  a  log.  She  looked  at 
the  Boy  impudently,  as  much  as  to  say,  "When  that  blot  on  the 
landscape  is  removed,  I'll  tell  you  something."  The  Boy  had 
not  the  smallest  intention  of  removing  the  blot. 

Grudgingly  he  admitted  to  himself  that,  away  from  the  un 
savory  atmosphere  of  the  Gold  Nugget,  there  was  nothing  in 

320 


THE   GREAT   STAMPEDE 

Maudie  positively  offensive.  At  this  moment,  with  her  shrewd 
little  face  peering  pertly  out  from  her  parki-hood,  she  looked 
more  than  ever  like  an  audacious  child,  or  like  some  strange, 
new  little  Arctic  animal  with  a  whimsical  human  air. 

"Look  here,  Colonel,"  she  said  presently,  either  despairing  of 
getting  rid  of  the  Boy  or  ceasing  to  care  about  it:  "you  got  to 
get  a  wiggle  on  to-morrow." 

"What  for?" 

She  looked  round,  first  over  one  shoulder,  then  over  the  other. 
"Well,  it's  on  the  quiet." 

The  Kentuckian  nodded.  But  she  winked  her  blue  eyes 
suspiciously  at  the  Boy. 

"Oh,  he's  all  right." 

"Well,  you  been  down  to  Little  Minook,  ain't  you?" 

"Yes." 

"And  you  seen  how  the  pay  pinches  out  above  No.  10?" 

"Yes." 

"Well,  now,  if  it  ain't  above  No.  10,  where  is  it?"  No 
answer.  "Where  does  it  gof  she  repeated  severely,  like  a 
schoolmarm  to  a  class  of  backward  boys. 

"That's  what  everybody  'd  like  to  know." 

"Then  let  'em  ask  Pitcairn." 

" What's  Pitcairn  say?" 

She  got  up  briskly,  moved  to  another  log  almost  at  the 
Colonel's  feet,  and  sat  looking  at  him  a  moment  as  if  making  up 
her  mind  about  something  serious.  The  Colonel  stood,  fists  at 
his  sides,  arrested  by  that  name  Pitcairn. 

"You  know  Pitcairn's  the  best  all-round  man  wre  got  here," 
she  asserted  rather  than  asked. 

The  Colonel  nodded. 

"He's  an  Idaho  miner,  Pitcairn  is!" 

"I  know." 

"Well,  he's  been  out  lookin'  at  the  place  where  the  gold  gives 
out  on  Little  Minook.  There's  a  pup  just  there  above  No.  10 
— remember?" 

"Perfectly." 

"And  above  the  pup,  on  the  right,  there's  a  bed  of  gravel." 

"Couldn't  see  much  of  that  for  the  snow." 

"Well,  sir,  that  bed  o'  gravel's  an  old  channel" 

"No!" 

She  nodded.  "Pitcairn's  sunk  a  prospect,  and  found  colours 
in  his  first  pan." 

321 


THE    MAGNETIC   NORTH 

"Oh,  colours!" 

"But  the  deeper  he  went,  the  better  prospects  he  got."  She 
stood  up  now,  close  to  the  Colonel.  The  Boy  stopped  work  and 
leaned  on  the  wood  pile,  listening.  "Pitcairn  told  Charlie  and 
me  (on  the  strict  q.  t.)  that  the  gold  channel  crossed  the  divide 
"at  No.  10,  and  the  only  gold  on  Little  Minook  is  just  what 
spilt  down  on  those  six  claims  as  the  gold  went  crossin'  the 
gulch.  The  real  placer  is  that  old  channel  above  the  pup,  and 
boys" — in  her  enthusiasm  she  even  included  the  Colonel's  ob 
jectionable  pardner — "boys,  it's  rich  as  blazes!" 

"I   wonder "   drawled    the   Colonel,   recovering  a  little 

from  his  first  thrill. 

"I  wouldn't  advise  you  to  waste  much  time  wonderin',"  she 
said  with  fire.  "What  I'm  tellin'  you  is  scientific.  Pitcairn  is 
straight  as  a  string.  You  won't  get  any  hymns  out  o'  Pitcairn, 
but  you'll  get  fair  and  square.  His  news  is  worth  a  lot.  If  you 
got  any  natchral  gumption  anywhere  about  you,  you  can  have 
a  claim  worth  anything  from  ten  to  fifty  thousand  dollars  this 
time  to-morrow." 

"Well,  well !    Good  Lord !    Hey,  Boy,  what  we  goin'  to  do  ?" 

"Well,  you  don't  want  to  get  excited,"  admonished  the  queer 
little  Arctic  animal,  jumping  up  suddenly;  "but  you  can  bunk 
early  and  get  a  four  a.m.  wiggle  on.  Charlie  and  me  '11  meet 
you  on  the  Minook  Trail.  Ta-ta!"  and  she  whisked  away  as 
suddenly  as  a  chipmunk. 

They  couldn't  sleep.  Some  minutes  before  the  time  named 
they  were  quietly  leaving  Keith's  shack.  Out  on  the  trail  there 
were  two  or  three  men  already  disappearing  towards  Little 
Minook,  and  here  was  Maudie,  all  by  herself,  sprinting  along 
like  a  good  fellow,  on  the  thin  surface  of  the  last  night's  frost. 
She  walked  in  native  water-boots,  but  her  snow-shoes  stuck  out 
above  the  small  pack  neatly  lashed  on  her  straight  little  shoul 
ders.  They  waited  for  her. 

She  came  up  very  brisk  and  businesslike.  To  their  good- 
mornings  she  only  noddde  in  a  funny,  preoccupied  way,  never 
opening  her  lips. 

"Charlie  gone  on?"  inquired  the  Colonel  presently. 

She  shook  her  head.     "Knocked  out." 

"Been  fightin'?" 

"No ;  ran  a  race  to  Hunter." 

"To  jump  that  claim?" 

She  nodded. 

322 


THE   GREAT   STAMPEDE 

"Did  he  beat?" 

She  laughed.  "Butts  had  the  start.  They  got  there  together 
at  nine  o'clock!" 

"Three  hours  before  jumpin'  time?" 

Again  she  nodded.  "And  found  four  more  waitin'  on  the 
same  fool  errand." 

"Whatdid  they  do?" 

"Called  a  meetin'.  Couldn't  agree.  It  looked  like  there'd 
be  a  fight,  and  a  fast  race  to  the  Recorder  among  the  survivors. 
But  before  the  meetin'  was  adjourned,  those  four  that  had  got 
there  first  (they  were  pretty  gay  a'ready),  they  opened  some 
hootch,  so  Butts  and  Charlie  knew  they'd  nothing  to  fear  except 
from  one  another." 

On  the  top  of  the  divide  that  gave  them  their  last  glimpse 
of  Rampart  she  stopped  an  instant  and  looked  back.  The 
quick  flash  of  anxiety  deepening  to  defiance  made  the  others 
turn.  The  bit  they  could  see  of  the  water-front  thoroughfare 
was  alive.  The  inhabitants  were  rushing  about  like  a  swarm 
of  agitated  ants. 

"What's  happening?" 

"It's  got  out,"  she  exploded  indignantly.  "They're  comin', 
too!" 

She  turned,  flew  down  the  steep  incline,  and  then  settled 
into  a  steady,  determined  gait,  that  made  her  gain  on  the  men 
who  had  got  so  long  a  start.  Her  late  companions  stood  look 
ing  back  in  sheer  amazement,  for  the  town  end  of  the  trail  was 
black  with  figures.  The  Boy  began  to  laugh. 

"Look!  if  there  isn't  old  Jansen  and  his  squaw  wife." 

The  rheumatic  cripple,  huddled  on  a  sled,  was  drawn  by  a 
native  man  and  pushed  by  a  native  woman.  They  could  hear 
him  swearing  at  both  impartially  in  broken  English  and 
Chinook. 

The  Colonel  and  the  Boy  hurried  after  Maudie.  It  was 
some  minutes  before  they  caught  up.  The  Boy,  feeling  that 
he  couldn't  be  stand-ofKsh  in  the  very  act  of  profiting  by  her 
acquaintance,  began  to  tell  her  about  the  crippled  but  un 
daunted  Swede.  She  made  no  answer,  just  trotted  steadily  on. 
The  Boy  hazarded  another  remark — an  opinion  that  she  was 
making  uncommon  good  time  for  a  woman. 

"You'll  want  all  the  wind  you  got  before  you  get  back,"  she 
said  shortly,  and  silence  fell  on  the  stampeders. 

Some  of  the  young  men  behind  were  catching  up.  Maudie 

323 


THE    MAGNETIC   NORTH 

set  her  mouth  very  firm  and  quickened  her  pace.  This  spectacle 
touched  up  those  that  followed;  they  broke  into  a  canter, 
floundered  in  a  drift,  recovered,  and  passed  on.  Maudie  pulled 
up. 

"That's  all  right!  Let  'em  get  good  and  tired,  half-way.  We 
got  to  save  all  the  run  we  got  in  us  for  the  last  lap." 

The  sun  was  hotter,  the  surface  less  good. 

She  loosened  her  shoulder-straps,  released  her  snow-shoes, 
and  put  them  on.  As  she  tightened  her  little  pack  the  ex- 
Governor  came  puffing  up  with  apoplectic  face. 

"Why,  she  can  throw  the  diamond  hitch!"  he  gasped  with 
admiration. 

"S'pose  you  thought  the  squaw  hitch  would  be  good  enough 
for  me." 

"Well,  it  is  for  me"  he  laughed  breathlessly. 

"That's  'cause  you're  an  ex-Governor";  and  steadily  she 
tramped  along. 

In  twenty  minutes  Maudie's  party  came  upon  those  same 
young  men  who  had  passed  running.  They  sat  in  a  row  on  a 
fallen  spruce.  One  had  no  rubber  boots,  the  other  had  come 
off  in  such  a  hurry  he  had  forgotten  his  snow-shoes.  Already 
they  were  wet  to  the  waist. 

"Step  out,  Maudie,"  said  one  with  short-breathed  hilarity; 
"we'll  be  treadin'  on  your  heels  in  a  minute;"  but  they  were 
badly  blown. 

Maudie  wasted  not  a  syllable.  Her  mouth  began  to  look 
drawn.  There  were  violet  shadows  under  the  straight-looking 
eyes. 

The  Colonel  glanced  at  her  now  and  then.  Is  she  thinking 
about  that  four-year-old?  Is  Maudie  stampedin'  through  the 
snow  so  that  other  little  woman  need  never  dance  at  the  Alca 
zar?  No,  the  Colonel  knew  well  enough  that  Maudie  rather 
liked  this  stampedin'  business. 

She  had  passed  one  of  those  men  who  had  got  the  long  start 
of  her.  He  carried  a  pack.  Once  in  a  while  she  would  turn 
her  strained-looking  face  over  her  shoulder,  glancing  back,  with 
the  frank  eyes  of  an  enemy,  at  her  fellow-citizens  labouring 
along  the  trail. 

"Come  on,  Colonel!"  she  commanded,  with  a  new  sharp 
ness.  "Keep  up  your  lick." 

But  the  Colonel  had  had  about  enough  of  this  gait.  From 
now  on  he  fell  more  and  more  behind.  But  the  Boy  was  with 
her  neck  and  neck. 

324 


THE   GREAT   STAMPEDE 

"Guess  you're  goin'  to  get  there." 

"Guess  I  am." 

Some  men  behind  them  began  to  run.  They  passed.  They 
had  pulled  off  their  parkis,  and  left  them  where  they  fell. 
They  threw  off  their  caps  now,  and  the  sweat  rolled  down  their 
faces.  Not  a  countenance  but  wore  that  immobile  look,  the 
fixed,  unseeing  eye  of  the  spent  runner,  who  is  overtaxing 
heart  and  lungs.  Not  only  Maudie  now,  but  everyone  was 
silent.  Occasionally  a  man  would  rouse  himself  out  of  a  walk, 
as  if  out  of  sleep,  and  run  a  few  yards,  going  the  more  weakly 
after.  Several  of  the  men  who  had  been  behind  caught  up. 

Where  was  Kentucky? 

If  Maudie  wondered,  she  wasted  no  time  over  the  specula 
tion.  For  his  own  good  she  had  admonished  him  to  keep  up  his 
lick,  but  of  course  the  main  thing  was  that  Maudie  should  keep 
up  hers. 

"What  i  fthis  is  the  great  day  of  my  life!"  thought  the  Boy. 
"Shall  I  always  look  back  to  this?  Why,  it's  Sunday.  Won 
der  if  Kentucky  remembers?"  Never  pausing,  the  Boy 
glanced  back,  vaguely  amused,  and  saw  the  Colonel  plunging 
heavily  along  in  front  of  half  a  dozen,  who  were  obviously  out 
of  condition  for  such  an  expedition — eyes  bloodshot,  lumbering 
on  with  nervous  "whisky  gait,"  now  whipped  into  a  breath 
less  gallop,  now  half  falling  by  the  way.  Another  of  the  Gold 
Nugget  women  with  two  groggy-looking  men,  and  somewhere 
down  the  trail,  the  crippled  Swede  swearing  at  his  squaw.  A 
dreamy  feeling  came  over  the  Boy.  Where  in  the  gold  basins 
of  the  North  was  this  kind  of  thing  not  happening — finished 
yesterday,  or  planned  for  to-morrow?  Yes,  it  was  typical. 
Between  patches  of  ragged  black  spruce,  wide  stretches  of  snow- 
covered  moss,  under  a  lowering  sky,  and  a  mob  of  men  flounder 
ing  through  the  drifts  to  find  a  fortune.  "See  how  they  run!" 
— mad  mice.  They'd  been  going  on  stampedes  all  winter,  and 
would  go  year  in,  year  out,  until  they  died.  The  prizes  were 
not  for  such  as  they.  As  for  himself — ah,  it  was  a  great  day 
for  him !  He  was  going  at  last  to  claim  that  gold-mine  he  had 
come  so  far  to  find.  This  was  the  decisive  moment  of  his  life. 
At  the  thought  he  straightened  up,  and  passed  Maudie.  She 
gave  him  a  single  sidelong  look,  unfriendly,  even  fierce.  That 
was  because  he  could  run  like  sixty,  and  keep  it  up.  "When 
I'm  a  millionaire  I  shall  always  remember  that  I'm  rich  be 
cause  I  won  the  race."  A  dizzy  feeling  came  over  him.  He 

325 


THE    MAGNETIC    NORTH 

seemed  to  be  running  through  some  softly  resisting  medium  like 
water — no,  like  wine  jelly.  His  heart  was  pounding  up  in  his 
throat.  "What  if  something's  wrong,  and  I  drop  dead  on  the 
way  to  my  mine?  Well,  Kentucky  '11  look  after  things." 

Maudie  had  caught  up  again,  and  here  was  Little  Minook 
at  last!  A  couple  of  men,  who  from  the  beginning  had  been 
well  in  advance  of  everyone  else,  and  often  out  of  sight,  had 
seemed  for  the  last  five  minutes  to  be  losing  ground.  But  now 
they  put  on  steam,  Maudie  too.  She  stepped  out  of  her  snow- 
shoes,  and  flung  them  up  on  the  low  roof  of  the  first  cabin. 
Then  she  ducked  her  head,  crooked  her  arms  at  the  elbow, 
and,  with  fists  uplifted,  she  broke  into  a  run,  jumping  from 
pile  to  pile  of  frozen  pay,  gliding  under  sluice-boxes,  scrambling 
up  the  bank,  slipping  on  the  rotting  ice,  recovering,  dashing 
on  over  fallen  timber  and  through  waist-deep  drifts,  on  beyond 
No.  i  o  up  to  the  bench  above. 

When  the  Boy  got  to  Pitcairn's  prospect  hole,  there  were 
already  six  claims  gone.  He  proceeded  to  stake  the  seventh, 
next  to  Maudie's.  That  person,  with  flaming  cheeks,  was 
driving  her  last  location-post  into  a  snow-drift  with  a  piece  of 
water-worn  obsidian. 

The  Colonel  came  along  in  time  to  stake  No.  14  Below, 
under  Maudie's  personal  supervision. 

Not  much  use,  in  her  opinion,  "except  that  with  gold,  it's 
where  you  find  it,  and  that's  all  any  man  can  tell  you." 

As  she  was  returning  alone  to  her  own  claim,  behold  two 
brawny  Circle  City  miners  pulling  out  her  stakes  and  putting 
in  their  own.  She  flew  at  them  with  remarks  unprintable. 

"You  keep  your  head  shut,"  advised  one  of  the  men,  a  big, 
evil-looking  fellow.  "This  was  our  claim  first.  We  was  here 
with  Pitcairn  yesterday.  Somebody's  took  away  our  location- 
posts." 

"You  take  me  for  a  cheechalko?"  she  screamed,  and  her 
blue  eyes  flashed  like  smitten  steel.  She  pulled  up  her  sweater 

and  felt  in  her  belt.     "You take  your  stakes  out! 

Put  mine  back,  unless  you  want "     A  murderous-looking 

revolver  gleamed  in  her  hand. 

"Hold  on!"  said  the  spokesman  hurriedly.  "Can't  you  take 
a  joke?" 

"No;  this  ain't  my  day  for  jokin'.  You  want  to  put  them 
stakes  o'  mine  back."  She  stood  on  guard  till  it  was  done. 
"And  now  I'd  advise  you,  like  a  mother,  to  back-track  home. 
You'll  find  this  climate  very  tryin'  to  your  health." 

326 


THE   GREAT    STAMPEDE 

They  went  farther  up  the  slope  and  marked  out  a  claim  on 
the  incline  above  the  bench. 

In  a  few  hours  the  mountain-side  was  staked  to  the  very 
top,  and  still  the  stream  of  people  struggled  out  from  Ram 
part  to  the  scene  of  the  new  strike.  All  day  long,  and  all  the 
night,  the  trail  was  alive  with  the  coming  or  the  going  of  the 
five  hundred  and  odd  souls  that  made  up  the  population.  In 
the  town  itself  the  excitement  grew  rather  than  waned.  Men 
talked  themselves  into  a  fever,  others  took  fire,  and  the  epi 
demic  spread  like  some  obscure  nervous  disease.  Nobody  slept, 
everybody  drank  and  hurrahed,  and  said  it  was  the  greatest 
night  in  the  history  of  Minook.  In  the  Gold  Nugget  saloon, 
crowded  to  suffocation,  Pitcairn  organized  the  new  mining  dis 
trict,  and  named  it  the  Idaho  Bar.  French  Charlie  and  Keith 
had  gone  out  late  in  the  day.  On  their  return,  Keith  sold  his 
stake  to  a  woman  for  twenty-five  dollars,  and  Charlie  adver 
tised  a  half-interest  in  his  for  five  thousand.  Between  these 
two  extremes  you  could  hear  Idaho  Bar  quoted  at  any  figure 
you  liked. 

Maudie  was  in  towering  spirits.  She  drank  several  cock 
tails,  and  in  her  knee-length  "stampedin'  skirt"  and  her  scarlet 
sweater  she  danced  the  most  audacious  jig  even  Maudie  had 
ever  presented  to  the  Gold  Nugget  patrons.  The  miners  yelled 
with  delight.  One  of  them  caught  her  up  and  put  her  on  the 
counter  of  the  bar,  where,  no  whit  at  a  loss,  she  curveted  and 
spun  among  the  bottles  and  the  glasses  as  lightly  as  a  dragon 
fly  dips  and  whirls  along  a  summer  brook.  The  enthusiasm 
grew  delirious.  The  men  began  to  throw  nuggets  at  her,  and 
Maudie,  never  pausing  in  the  dance,  caught  them  on  the  fly. 

Suddenly  she  saw  the  Big  Chap  turn  away,  and,  with  his 
back  to  her,  pretend  to  read  the  notice  on  the  wall,  written  in 
charcoal  on  a  great  sheet  of  brown  wrapping-paper: 

"MiNOOK, 

April  30. 
"To  who  it  may  concern: 

"know  all  men  by  these  presents  that  I,  James  McGinty, 
now  of  Minook  (or  Rampart  City},  Alaska,  do  hereby 
give  notice  of  my  intention  to  hold  and  claim  a  lien  by 
virtue  of  the  statue  in  such  case " 

He  had  read  so  far  when  Maudie,  having  jumped  down  off 
the  bar  with  her  fists  full  of  nuggets,  and  dodging  her  ad- 

327 


THE    MAGNETIC    NORTH 

mirers,  wormed  her  way  to  the  Colonel.  She  thrust  her  small 
person  in  between  the  notice  and  the  reader,  and  scrutinised 
the  tanned  face,  on  which  the  Rochester  burners  shed  a  flood 
of  light. 

"You  lookin'  mighty  serious,"  she  said. 

"Am  I?"  ^ 

"M-hm!     Thinkin'  'bout  home  sweet  home?" 

"N-no — not  just  then." 

"Say,  I  told  you  'bout — a — 'bout  me.  You  ain't  never  told 
me  nothin'." 

He  seemed  not  to  know  the  answer  to  that,  and  pulled  at 
his  ragged  beard.  She  leaned  back  against  McGinty's  notice, 
and  blurred  still  more  the  smudged  intention  "by  virtue  of  the 
statue." 

"Married,  o'  course,"  she  said. 

"No." 

"Widder?" 

"No." 

"Never  hitched  up  yet?" 

He  shook  his  head. 

"Never  goin'  to,  I  s'pose." 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,"  he  laughed,  and  turned  his  head  over 
his  shoulder  to  the  curious  scene  between  them  and  the  bar. 
It  was  suddenly  as  if  he  had  never  seen  it  before;  then,  while 
Maudie  waited,  a  little  scornful,  a  little  kind,  his  eyes  went 
through  the  window  to  the  pink  and  orange  sunrise.  As  some 
change  came  over  the  Colonel's  face,  "She  died!"  said  Maudie. 

"No — no — she  didn't  die"  then  half  to  himself,  half  to 
forestall  Maudie's  crude  probing,  "but  I  lost  her,"  he  finished. 

"Oh,  you  lost  her!" 

He  stood,  looking  past  the  ugliness  within  to  the  morning 
majesty  without.  But  it  was  not  either  that  he  saw.  Maudie 
studied  him. 

"Guess  you  ain't  give  up  expectin'  to  find  her  some  day?" 

"No — no,  not  quite." 

"Humph!     Did  you  guess  you'd  find  her  here?" 

"No,"  and  his  absent  smile  seemed  to  remove  him  leagues 
away.  "No,  not  here." 

I  could  a'  told  you "  she  began  savagely.     "I   don't 

know  for  certain  whether  any — what  you  call  good  women 
come  up  here,  but  I'm  dead  sure  none  stay." 

"When  do  you  leave  for  home,  Maudie?"  he  said  gently. 

328 


THE   GREAT   STAMPEDE 

But  at  the  flattering  implication  the  oddest  thing  happened. 
As  she  stood  there,  with  her  fists  full  of  gold,  Maudie's  eyes 
filled.  She  turned  abruptly  and  went  out.  The  crowd  began 
to  melt  away.  In  half  an  hour  only  those  remained  who  had 
more  hootch  than  they  could  carry  off  the  premises.  They 
made  themselves  comfortable  on  the  floor,  near  the  stove,  and 
the  greatest  night  Minook  had  known  was  ended. 


329 


CHAPTER   XVIII 

A  MINERS'  MEETING 

"  Leiden  oder  triumphiren 
Hammer  oder  Amboss  sein." 

GOETHE. 

IN  a  good-sized  cabin,  owned  by  Bonsor,  down  near  the 
A.  C.,  Judge  Corey  was  administering  Miners'  Law.  The 
chief  magistrate  was  already  a  familiar  figure,  standing  on 
his  dump  at  Little  Minook,  speculatively  chewing  and  discuss 
ing  "glayshal  action,"  but  most  of  the  time  at  the  Gold  Nug 
get,  chewing  still,  and  discussing  more  guardedly  the  action 
some  Minook  man  was  threatening  to  bring  against  another. 
You  may  treat  a  glacier  cavalierly,  but  Miners'  Law  is  a  seri 
ous  matter.  Corey  was  sitting  before  a  deal  table,  littered  with 
papers  strewn  round  a  central  bottle  of  ink,  in  which  a  steel 
pen  stuck  upright.  The  Judge  wore  his  usual  dilapidated  busi 
ness  suit  of  brown  cheviot  that  had  once  been  snuff-coloured 
and  was  now  a  streaky  drab.  On  his  feet,  stretched  out  under 
the  magisterial  table  till  they  joined  the  jury,  a  pair  of  moc 
casins;  on  his  grizzled  head  a  cowboy  hat,  set  well  back.  He 
could  spit  farther  than  any  man  in  Minook,  and  by  the  same 
token  was  a  better  shot.  They  had  unanimously  elected  him 
Judge. 

The  first-comers  had  taken  possession  of  the  chairs  and 
wooden  stools  round  the  stove.  All  the  later  arrivals,  including 
Keith  and  his  friends,  sat  on  the  floor. 

"There's  a  good  many  here." 

"They'll  keep  comin'  as  long  as  a  lean  man  can  scrouge  in." 

"Yes,"  said  Keith,  "everybody's  got  to  come,  even  if  it's  only 
the  usual  row  between  pardners,  who  want  to  part  and  can't 
agree  about  dividing  the  outfit." 

"Got  to  come?" 

Keith  laughed.  "That's  the  way  everybody  feels.  There'll 
be  a  debate  and  a  chance  to  cast  a  vote.  Isn't  your  true-born 
American  always  itching  to  hold  a  meeting  about  something?" 

330 


A   MINERS'    MEETING 

"Don't  know  about  that,"  said  McGinty,  "but  I  do  know 
there's  more  things  happens  in  a  minute  to  make  a  man  mad  in 
Alaska,  than  happens  in  a  year  anywhere  else."  And  his  senti 
ment  was  loudly  applauded.  The  plaintiff  had  scored  a  hit. 

"I  don't  know  but  two  partnerships,"  the  ex-Governor  was 
saying,  "of  all  those  on  my  ship  and  on  the  Muckluck  and  the 
May  West — just  two,  that  have  stood  the  Alaska  strain. 
Everyone  that  didn't  break  on  the  boats,  or  in  camp,  went  to 
smash  on  the  trail." 

They  all  admitted  that  the  trail  was  the  final  test.  While 
they  smoked  and  spat  intoi  or  at  the  stove,  and  told  trail  yarns, 
the  chief  magistrate  arranged  papers,  conferred  with  the  clerk 
and  another  man,  wrinkled  deeply  his  leathery  forehead,  con 
sulted  his  Waterbury,  and  shot  tobacco-juice  under  the  table. 

"Another  reason  everybody  comes,"  whispered  Keith,  "is  be 
cause  the  side  that  wins  always  takes  the  town  up  to  the  Nugget 
and  treats  to  hootch.  Whenever  you  see  eighty  or  ninety  more 
drunks  than  usual,  you  know  there's  either  been  a  stampede  or 
else  justice  has  been  administered." 

"Ain't  Bonsor  late?"  asked  someone. 

"No,  it's  a  quarter  of." 

"Why  do  they  want  Bonsor?" 

"His  case  on  the  docket — McGinty  v.  Burt  Bonsor,  pro 
prietor  of  the  Gold  Nugget." 

"If  they  got  a  row  on " 

"//  they  got  a  row?  Course  they  got  a  row.  Weren't  they 
pardners?" 

"But  McGinty  spends  all  his  time  at  the  Gold  Nugget." 

"Well,  where  would  he  spend  it?" 

"A  Miners'  Meetin's  a  pretty  poor  machine,"  McGinty  was 
saying  to  the  ex-Governor,  "but  it's  the  best  we  got." 

" in  a  country  bigger  than  several  of  the  nations  of  Eu 
rope  put  together,"  responded  that  gentleman,  with  much  pub 
lic  spirit. 

"A  Great  Country!"" 

"Right!" 

"You  bet!" 

" a  country  that's  paid  for  its  purchase  over  and  over 

again,  even  before  we  discovered  gold  here." 

"Did  she?    Good  old  'laska." 

" and  the  worst  treated  part  o'  the  Union." 

"That's  so." 

331 


THE    MAGNETIC   NORTH 

"After  this,  when  I  read  about  Russian  corruption  and 
Chinese  cruelty,  I'll  remember  the  way  Uncle  Sam  treats  the 
natives  up " 

" and  us,  b'gosh!     White  men  that  are  openin'  up  this 

great,  rich  country  fur  Uncle  Sam " 

" with  no  proper  courts — no  Government  protection — 

no  help — no  justice — no  nothin'." 

"Yer  forgittin'  them  reindeer!"  And  the  court-room  rang 
with  derisive  laughter. 

"Congress  started  that  there  Relief  Expedition  all  right,"  the 
josher  went  on,  "only  them  blamed  reindeer  had  got  the  feed 
habit,  and  when  they'd  et  up  everything  in  sight  they  set  down 
on  the  Dalton  Trail — and  there  they're  settin'  yit,  just  like 
they  was  Congress.  But  I  don't  like  to  hear  no  feller  talkin' 
agin'  the  Gover'ment." 

"Yes,  it's  all  very  funny,"  said  McGinty  gloomily,  "but 
think  o'  the  fix  a  feller's  in  wot's  had  a  wrong  done  him  in  the 
fall,  and  knows  justice  is  thousands  o'  miles  away,  and  he  can't 
even  go  after  her  for  eight  months;  and  in  them  eight  months 
the  feller  wot  robbed  him  has  et  up  the  money,  or  worked  out 
the  claim,  and  gone  dead-broke." 

"No,  sir!  we  don't  wait,  and  we  don't  go  trav'lin'.  We  stay 
at  home  and  call  a  meetin'." 

The  door  opened,  and  Bonsor  and  the  bar-tender,  with  great 
difficulty,  forced  their  way  in.  They  stood  flattened  against  the 
wall.  During  the  diversion  McGinty  was  growling  disdain 
fully,  "Rubbidge!" 

"Rubbidge?     Reckon  it's  pretty  serious  rubbidge." 

"Did  you  ever  know  a  Miners'  Meetin'  to  make  a  decision 
that  didn't  become  law,  with  the  whole  community  ready  to 
enforce  it  if  necessary?  Rubbidge!" 

"Oh,  we'll  hang  a  man  if  we  don't  like  his  looks,"  grumbled 
McGinty;  but  he  was  overborne.  There  were  a  dozen  ready 
to  uphold  the  majesty  of  the  Miners'  Meetin'. 

"No,  sir!  No  funny  business  about  our  law!  This  tribunal's 
final." 

"I  ain't  disputin'  that  it's  final.  I  ain't  talkin'  about  law.  I 
was  mentionin'  Justice." 

"The  feller  that  loses  is  always  gassin'  'bout  Justice.  When 
you  win  you  don't  think  there's  any  flies  on  the  Justice." 

"Ain't  had  much  experience  with  winnin'.  We  all  knows 
who  wins  in  these  yere  Meetin's." 

332 


A    MINERS'    MEETING 

"Who?"  But  they  turned  their  eyes  on  Mr.  Bonsor,  over  by 
the  door. 

"Who  wins?"  repeated  a  Circle  City  man. 

"The  feller  that's  got  the  most  friends." 

"It's  so,"  whispered  Keith. 

" same  at  Circle,"  returned  the  up-river  man. 

McGinty  looked  at  him.    Was  this  a  possible  adherent? 

"You  got  a  Push  at  Circle?"  he  inquired,  but  without  genu 
ine  interest  in  the  civil  administration  up  the  river.  "Why, 
'fore  this  yere  town  was  organised,  when  we  hadn't  got  no 
Court  of  Arbitration  to  fix  a  boundary,  or  even  to  hang  a  thief, 
we  had  our  'main  Push,'  just  like  we  was  'Frisco."  He  low 
ered  his  voice,  and  leaned  towards  his  Circle  friend.  "With 
Bonsor's  help  they  'lected  Corey  Judge  o'  the  P'lice  Court,  and 
Bonsor  ain't  never  let  Corey  forgit  it." 

"What  about  the  other?"  inquired  a  Bonsorite,  "the  shifty 
Push  that  got  you  in  for  City  Marshal?" 

"What's  the  row  on  to-night?"  inquired  the  Circle  City  man. 

"Oh,  Bonsor,  over  there,  he  lit  out  on  a  stampede  'bout 
Christmas,  and  while  he  was  gone  a  feller  by  the  name  o'  Law 
rence  quit  the  game.  Fanned  out  one  night  at  the  Gold  Nug 
get.  I  seen  for  days  he  was  wantin'  to  be  a  angil,  and  I  kep' 
a  eye  on  'im.  Well,  when  he  went  to  the  boneyard,  course  it 
was  my  business,  bein'  City  Marshal,  to  take  possession  of  his 
property  fur  his  heirs!" 

There  was  unseemly  laughter  behind  the  stove-pipe. 

"Among  his  deeds  and  traps,"  McGinty  went  on,  unheed 
ing,  "there  was  fifteen  hundred  dollars  in  money.  Well,  sir, 
when  Bonsor  gits  back  he  decides  he'd  like  to  be  the  custodian 
o'  that  cash.  Mentions  his  idee  to  me.  I  jest  natchrally  tell 
him  to  go  to  hell.  No,  sir,  he  goes  to  Corey  over  there,  and 
gits  an  order  o'  the  Court  makin'  Bonsor  administrator  o'  the 
estate  o'  James  Lawrence  o'  Noo  Orleens,  lately  deceased. 
Then  Bonsor  comes  to  me,  shows  me  the  order,  and  demands 
that  fifteen  hundred." 

"Didn't  he  tell  you  you  could  keep  all  the  rest  o'  Lawrence's 
stuff?"  asked  the  Bonsorite. 

McGinty  disdained  to  answer  this  thrust. 

"But  I  knows  my  dooty  as  City  Marshal,  and  I  says,  'No,' 
and  Bonsor  says,  says  he,  'If  you  can't  git  the  idee  o'  that  fif 
teen  hundred  dollars  out  o'  your  head,  I'll  git  it  out  fur  ye 
with  a  bullet,'  an'  he  draws  on  me." 

333 


THE    MAGNETIC    NORTH 

"An'  McGinty  weakens,"  laughed  the  mocker  behind  the 
stove-pipe. 

"Bonsor  jest  pockets  the  pore  dead  man's  cash,"  says  Mc 
Ginty,  with  righteous  indignation,  "and  I've  called  this  yer 
meetin'  t'  arbitrate  the  matter." 

"Minook  doesn't  mind  arbitrating,"  says  Keith  low  to  the 
Colonel,  "but  there  isn't  a  man  in  camp  that  would  give  five 
cents  for  the  interest  of  the  heirs  of  Lawrence  in  that  fifteen 
hundred  dollars." 

A  hammering  on  the  clerk's  little  table  announced  that  it  was 
seven  p.m. 

The  Court  then  called  for  the  complaint  filed  by  McGinty 
v.  Bonsor,  the  first  case  on  the  docket.  The  clerk  had  just 
risen  when  the  door  was  flung  open,  and  hatless,  coatless,  face 
aflame,  Maudie  stood  among  the  miners. 

"Boys!"  said  she,  on  the  top  of  a  scream,  "I  been  robbed." 

"Hey?" 

"Robbed?" 

"Golly!" 

"Maudie  robbed?"  They  spoke  all  together.  Everybody 
had  jumped  up. 

"While  we  was  on  that  stampede  yesterday,  somebody  found 

my — all  my "  She  choked,  and  her  eyes  filled.  "Boys! 

my  nuggets,  my  dust,  my  dollars — they're  gone!" 

"Where  did  you  have  'em?" 

"In  a  little  place  under — in  a  hole."  Her  face  twitched,  and 
she  put  her  hand  up  to  hide  it. 

"Mean  shame." 

"Dirt  mean." 

"We'll  find  him,  Maudie." 

"An'  when  we  do,  we'll  hang  him  on  the  cottonwood." 

"Did  anybody  know  where  you  kept  your " 

"I  didn't  think  so,  unless  it  was No!"  she  screamed 

hysterically,  and  then  fell  into  weak  crying.  "Can't  think  who 
could  have  been  such  a  skunk." 

"But  who  do  you  suspect?"  persisted  the  Judge. 

"How  do  I  know?"  she  retorted  angrily.  "I  suspect  every 
body  till — //'//  I  know"  She  clenched  her  hands. 

That  a  thief  should  be  "'operating"  in  Minook  on  somebody 
who  wasn't  dead  yet,  was  a  matter  that  came  home  to  the  busi 
ness  and  the  bosoms  of  all  the  men  in  the  camp.  In  the  midst 
of  the  babel  of  speculation  and  excitement,  Maudie,  still  crying 

334 


A   MINERS'    MEETING 

and  talking  incoherently  about  skunks,  opened  the  door.  The 
men  crowded  after  her.  Nobody  suggested  it,  but  the  entire 
Miners'  Meeting  with  one  accord  adjourned  to  the  scene  of  the 
crime.  Only  a  portion  could  be  accommodated  under  Maudie's 
roof,  but  the  rest  crowded  in  front  of  her  door  or  went  and 
examined  the  window.  Maudie's  log-cabin  was  a  cheerful 
place,  its  one  room,  neatly  kept,  lined  throughout  with  red  and 
white  drill,  hung  with  marten  and  fox,  carpeted  with  wolf  and 
caribou.  The  single  sign  of  disorder  was  that  the  bed  was 
pulled  out  a  little  from  its  place  in  the  angle  of  the  wall  above 
the  patent  condenser  stove.  Behind  the  oil-tank,  where  the 
patent  condensation  of  oil  into  gas  went  on,  tiers  of  shelves, 
enamelled  pots  and  pans  ranged  below,  dishes  and  glasses  above. 
On  the  very  top,  like  a  frieze,  gaily  labelled  ranks  of  "tinned 
goods."  On  the  table  under  the  window  a  pair  of  gold  scales. 
A  fire  burned  in  the  stove.  The  long-lingering  sunlight  poured 
through  the  "turkey-red"  that  she  had  tacked  up  for  a  half- 
curtain,  and  over  this,  one  saw  the  slouch-hats  and  fur  caps  of 
the  outside  crowd. 

Clutching  Judge  Corey  by  the  arm,  Maudie  pulled  him  after 
her  into  the  narrow  space  behind  the  head-board  and  the  wall. 

"It  was  here — see?"     She  stooped  down. 

Some  of  the  men  pulled  the  bed  farther  out,  so  that  they, 
too,  could  pass  round  and  see. 

"This  piece  o'  board  goes  down  so  slick  you'd  never  know 
it  lifted  out."  She  fitted  it  in  with  shaking  hands,  and  then 
with  her  nails  and  a  hairpin  got  it  out.  "And  way  in,  under 
neath,  I  had  this  box.  I  always  set  it  on  a  flat  stone."  She 
spoke  as  if  this  oversight  were  the  thief's  chief  crime.  "See? 
Like  that." 

She  fitted  the  cigar-box  into  unseen  depths  of  space  and  then 
brought  it  out  again,  wet  and  muddy.  The  ground  was  full 
of  springs  hereabouts,  and  the  thaw  had  loosed  them. 

"Boys!"  She  stood  up  and  held  out  the  box.  "Boys!  it 
was  full" 

Eloquently  she  turned  it  upside  down. 

"How  much  do  you  reckon  you  had?"  She  handed  the 
muddy  box  to  the  nearest  sympathiser,  sat  down  on  the  fur- 
covered  bed,  and  wiped  her  eyes. 

|| Any  idea?" 

"I  weighed  it  all  over  again  after  I  got  in  from  the  Gold 
Nugget  the  night  we  went  on  the  stampede." 

335 


THE    MAGNETIC    NORTH 

As  she  sobbed  out  the  list  of  her  former  possessions,  Judge 
Corey  took  it  down  on  the  back  of  a  dirty  envelope.  So  many 
ounces  of  dust,  so  many  in  nuggets,  so  much  in  bills  and  coin, 
gold  and  silver.  Each  item  was  a  stab. 

"Yes,  all  that — all  that!"  she  jumped  up  wildly,  "and  it's 
gone!  But  we  got  to  find  it.  What  you  hangin'  round  here 
for?  Why,  if  you  boys  had  any  natchral  spunk  you'd  have  the 
thief  strung  up  by  now." 

"We  got  to  find  him  fust." 

"You  won't  find  him  standin'  here." 

They  conferred  afresh. 

"It  must  have  been  somebody  who  knowed  where  you  kept 
the  stuff." 

"N-no."  Her  red  eyes  wandered  miserably,  restlessly,  to  the 
window.  Over  the  red  half-curtain  French  Charlie  and  Butts 
looked  in.  They  had  not  been  to  the  meeting. 

Maudie's  face  darkened  as  she  caught  sight  of  the  Canadian. 

"Oh,  yes,  you  can  crow  over  me  now,"  she  shouted  shrilly 
above  the  buzz  of  comment  and  suggestion.  The  Canadian  led 
the  way  round  to  the  door,  and  the  two  men  crowded  in. 

"You  just  get  out,"  Maudie  cried  in  a  fury.  "Didn't  I  turn 
you  out  o'  this  and  tell  you  never " 

"Hoi'  on,"  said  French  Charlie  in  a  conciliatory  tone.  "This 
true  'bout  your  losin' " 

"Yes,  it's  true;  but  I  ain't  askin'  your  sympathy!" 

He  stopped  short  and  frowned. 

"Course  not,  when  you  can  get  his."  Under  his  slouch-hat 
he  glowered  at  the  Colonel. 

Maudie  broke  into  a  volley  of  abuse.  The  very  air  smelt  of 
brimstone.  When  finally,  through  sheer  exhaustion,  she  dropped 
on  the  side  of  the  bed,  the  devil  prompted  French  Charlie  to 
respond  in  kind.  She  jumped  up  and  turned  suddenly  round 
upon  Corey,  speaking  in  a  voice  quite  different,  low  and  hoarse : 
"You  asked  me,  Judge,  if  anybody  knew  where  I  kept  my 
stuff.  Charlie  did." 

The  Canadian  stopped  in  the  middle  of  a  lurid  remark  and 
stared  stupidly.  The  buzz  died  away.  The  cabin  was  strangely 
still. 

"Wasn't  you  along  with  the  rest  up  to  Idaho  Bar?"  inquired 
the  Judge  in  a  friendly  voice. 

"Y-yes." 

"Not  when  we  all  were!  No!"  Maudie's  tear-washed  eyes 

336 


A    MINERS'    MEETING 

were  regaining  a  dangerous  brightness.  "I  wanted  him  to  come 
with  me.  He  wouldn't,  and  we  quarrelled." 

"We  didn't." 

"You  didn't  quarrel?"  put  in  the  Judge. 

"We  did,"  said  Maudie,  breathless. 

"Not  about  that.  It  was  because  she  wanted  another  feller 
to  come,  too."  Again  he  shot  an  angry  glance  at  the  Ken- 
tuckian. 

"And  Charlie  said  if  I  gave  the  other  feller  the  tip,  he 
wouldn't  come.  And  he'd  get  even  with  me,  if  it  took  a  leg!" 

"Well,  it  looks  like  he  done  it." 

"Can't  you  prove  an  alibi?  Thought  you  said  you  was  along 
with  the  rest  to  Idaho  Bar?"  suggested  Windy  Jim. 

"So  I  was." 

"I  didn't  see  you,"  Maudie  flashed. 

"When  were  you  there?"  asked  the  Judge. 

"Last  night." 

"Oh,  yes!  When  everybody  else  was  comin'  home.  You  all 
know  if  that's  the  time  Charlie  usually  goes  on  a  stampede!" 

"You " 

If  words  could  slay,  Maudie  would  have  dropped  dead,  rid 
dled  with  a  dozen  mortal  wounds.  But  she  lived  to  reply  in 
kind.  Charlie's  abandonment  of  coherent  defence  was  against 
him*  While  he  wallowed  blindly  in  a  mire  of  offensive  epithet, 
his  fellow-citizens  came  to  dark  conclusions.  He  had  an  old 
score  to  pay  off  against  Maudie,  they  all  knew  that.  Had  he 
chosen  this  way?  What  other  so  effectual?  He  might  even 
say  most  of  that  dust  was  his,  anyway.  But  it  was  an  alarming 
precedent. 

The  fire  of  Maudie's  excitement  had  caught  and  spread. 
Eve  the  less  inflammable  muttered  darkly  that  it  was  all  up 
with  Minook,  if  a  person  couldn't  go  on  a  stampede  without 
havin'  his  dust  took  out  of  his  cabin.  The  crowd  was  pressing 
Charlie,  and  twenty  cross-questions  were  asked  him  in  a  minute. 
He,  beside  himself  with  rage,  or  fear,  or  both,  lost  all  power 
except  to  curse. 

The  Judge  seemed  to  be  taking  down  damning  evidence  on 
the  dirty  envelope.  Some  were  suggesting: 

"Bring  him  over  to  the  court." 

"Yes,  try  him  straight  away." 

No-Thumb-Jack  was  heard  above  the  din,  saying  it  was  all 
gammon  wasting  time  over  a  trial,  or  even — in  a  plain  case  like 

337 


THE    MAGNETIC    NORTH 

this — for  the  Judge  to  require  the  usual  complaint  made  in 
writing  and  signed  by  three  citizens. 

Two  men  laid  hold  of  the  Canadian,  and  he  turned  ghastly 
white  under  his  tan. 

"Me?  Me  tief?  You— let  me  alone!"  He  began  to 
struggle.  His  terrified  eyes  rolling  round  the  little  cabin,  fell 
on  Butts. 

"I  don'  know  but  one  tief  in  Minook,"  he  said  wildly,  like 
a  man  wandering  in  a  fever,  and  unconscious  of  having  spoken, 
till  he  noticed  there  was  a  diversion  of  some  sort.  People  were 
looking  at  Butts.  A  sudden  inspiration  pierced  the  Canadian's 
fog  of  terror. 

"You  know  what  Butts  done  to  Jack  McQuestion.  You 
ain't  forgot  how  he  sneaked  Jack's  watch!"  The  incident  was 
historic. 

Every  eye  on  Butts.    Charlie  caught  up  breath  and  courage. 

"An'  t'odder  night  w'en  Maudie  treat  me  like  she  done" — 
he  shot  a  blazing  glance  at  the  double-dyed  traitor — "I  fixed 
it  up  with  Butts.  Got  him  to  go  soft  on  'er  and  nab  'er  ring." 

"You  didn't  r  shouted  Maudie. 

With  a  shaking  finger  Charlie  pointed  out  Jimmie,  the 
cashier. 

"Didn't  I  tell  you  to  weigh  me  out  twenty  dollars  for  Butts 
that  night?" 

"Right,"  says  Jimmie. 

"It  was  to  square  Butts  fur  gittin'  that  ring  away  from 
Maudie." 

"You  put  up  a  job  like  that  on  me?"  To  be  fooled  publicly 
was  worse  than  being  robbed. 

Charlie  paid  no  heed  to  her  quivering  wrath.  The  menace 
of  the  cotton-wood  gallows  outrivalled  even  Maudie  and  her 
moods. 

"Why  should  I  pay  Butts  twenty  dollars  if  I  could  work  dat 
racket  m'self  ?  If  I  want  expert  work,  I  go  to  a  man  like  Butts, 
who  knows  his  business.  I'm  a  miner — like  the  rest  o'  yer!" 

The  centre  of  gravity  had  shifted.  It  was  very  grave  indeed 
in  the  neighbourhood  of  Mr.  Butts. 

"Hold  on,"  said  the  Judge,  forcing  his  way  nearer  to  the 
man  whose  fingers  had  a  renown  so  perilous.  "  'Cause  a  man 
plays  a  trick  about  a  girl's  ring  don't  prove  he  stole  her  money. 
This  thing  happened  while  the  town  was  emptied  out  on  the 
Little  Minook  trail.  Didn't  you  go  off  with  the  rest  yesterday 


morning?' 


338 


A   MINERS'    MEETING 

"No." 

"Ha!"  gasped  Maudie,  as  though  this  were  conclusive — "had 
business  in  town,  did  you?" 

Mr.  Butts  declined  to  answer. 

"You  thought  the  gold-mine  out  on  the  gulch  could  wait — 
and  the  gold-mine  in  my  cabin  couldn't." 

"You  lie!"  remarked  Mr.  Butts. 

"What  time  did  you  get  to  Idaho  Bar?"  asked  Corey. 

"Didn't  get  there  at  all." 

"Where  were  you?" 

"Here  in  Rampart." 

"What?" 

"Wait!  Wait!"  commanded  the  Judge,  as  the  crowd  rocked 
towards  Butts:  "P'raps  you'll  tell  us  what  kept  you  at  home?" 

Butts  shut  his  mouth  angrily,  but  a  glance  at  the  faces  nearest 
him  made  him  think  an  answer  prudent. 

"I  was  tired." 

The  men,  many  of  them  ailing,  who  had  nearly  killed  them 
selves  to  get  to  Idaho  Bar,  sneered  openly. 

"I'd  been  jumpin'  a  claim  up  at  Hunter." 

"So  had  Charlie.  But  he  joined  the  new  stampede  in  the 
afternoon." 

"Well,  I  didn't." 

"Why,  even  the  old  cripple  Jansen  went  on  this  stampede." 

"Can't  help  that." 

"Mr.  Butts,  you're  the  only  able-bodied  white  man  in  the 
district  that  stayed  at  home."  Corey  spoke  in  his  most  judicial 
style. 

Mr.  Butts  must  have  felt  the  full  significance  of  so  suspicious 
a  fact,  but  all  he  said  was: 

"YJ  ought  to  fix  up  a  notice.  Anybody  that  don't  join  a 
stampede  will  be  held  guilty  o'  grand  larceny."  Saying  this 
Butts  had  backed  a  step  behind  the  stove-pipe,  and  with  in 
credible  quickness  had  pulled  out  a  revolver.  But  before  he 
had  brought  it  into  range,  No-Thumb-Jack  had  struck  his  arm 
down,  and  two  or  three  had  sprung  at  the  weapon  and  wrested 
it  away. 

"Search  him!" 

"No  tellin'  what  else  he's  got!'1 

' and  he's  so  damned  handy!" 

"Search  him!" 

Maudie  pressed  forward  as  the  pinioned  man's  pockets  were 

339 


THE    MAGNETIC   NORTH 

turned  out.  Only  tobacco,  a  small  buckskin  bag  with  less  than 
four  ounces  of  dust,  a  pipe,  and  a  knife. 

"Likely  he'd  be  carrying  my  stuff  about  on  him!"  said  she, 
contemptuous  of  her  own  keen  interest. 

"Get  out  a  warrant  to  search  Butts'  premises,"  said  a  voice 
in  the  crowd. 

"McGinty  and  Johnson  are  down  there  now!" 

"Think  he'd  leave  anything  layin'  round?" 

Maudie  pressed  still  closer  to  the  beleaguered  Butts. 

"Say,  if  I  make  the  boys  let  you  go  back  to  Circle,  will  you 
tell  me  where  you've  hid  my  money?" 

"Ain't  got  your  money!" 

"Look  at  'im,"  whispered  Charlie,  still  so  terrified  he  could 
hardly  stand. 

"Butts  ain't  borrowin'  no  trouble." 

And  this  formulating  of  the  general  impression  did  Butts  no 
good.  As  they  had  watched  the  calm  demeanour  of  the  man, 
under  suspicion  of  what  was  worse,  in  their  eyes,  than  murder, 
there  had  come  over  the  bystanders  a  wave  of  that  primitive 
cruelty  that  to  this  hour  will  wake  in  modern  men  and  cry  as 
loud  as  in  Judean  days,  or  in  the  Saga  times  of  Iceland,  "Retri 
bution!  Let  him  suffer!  Let  him  pay  in  blood!"  And  here 
again,  on  the  Yukon,  that  need  of  visible  atonement  to  right  the 
crazy  injustice  of  the  earth. 

Even  the  women — the  others  had  crowded  in — were  eager 
for  Butts'  instant  expiation  of  the  worst  crime  such  a  commu 
nity  knows.  They  told  one  another  excitedly  how  they'd  realised 
all  along  it  was  only  a  question  of  time  before  Butts  would  be 
tryin'  his  game  up  here.  Nobody  was  safe.  Luckily  they  were 
on  to  him.  But  look!  He  didn't  care  a  curse.  It  would  be* a 
good  night's  job  to  make  him  care. 

Three  men  had  hold  of  him,  and  everybody  talked  at  once. 
Minnie  Bryan  was  sure  she  had  seen  him  skulking  round 
Maudie's  after  that  lady  had  gone  up  the  trail,  but  every 
body  had  been  too  excited  about  the  stampede  to  notice  particu 
larly. 

The  Judge  and  Bonsor  were  shouting  and  gesticulating,  Butts 
answering  bitterly  but  quietly  still.  His  face  was  pretty  grim, 
but  it  looked  as  if  he  were  the  one  person  in  the  place  who 
hadn't  lost  his  head.  Maudie  was  still  crying  at  intervals,  and 
advertising  to  the  newcomers  that  wealth  she  had  hitherto  kept 
so  dark,  and  between  whiles  she  stared  fixedly  at  Butts,  as  con- 

340 


A    MINERS'    MEETING 

viction  of  his  guilt  deepened  to  a  rage  to  see  him  suffer  for  his 
crime. 

She  would  rather  have  her  nuggets  back,  but,  failing  that — 
let  Butts  pay!  He  owed  her  six  thousand  dollars.  Let  him 
pay! 

The  miners  were  hustling  him  to  the  door — to  the  Court 
House  or  to  the  cotton-wood — a  toss-up  which. 

"Look  here!"  cried  out  the  Colonel;  "McGinty  and  John 
son  haven't  got  back!" 

Nobody  listened.  Justice  had  been  sufficiently  served  in 
sending  them.  They  had  forced  Butts  out  across  the  threshold, 
the  crowd  packed  close  behind.  The  only  men  who  had  not 
pressed  forward  were  Keith,  the  Colonel,  and  the  Boy,  and  No- 
Thumb-Jack,  still  standing  by  the  oil-tank. 

"What  are  they  going  to  do  with  him?"  The  Colonel 
turned  to  Keith  with  horror  in  his  face. 

Keith's  eyes  were  on  the  Boy,  who  had  stooped  and  picked 
up  the  block  of  wood  that  had  fitted  over  the  treasure-hole. 
He  was  staring  at  it  with  dilated  eyes.  Sharply  he  turned  his 
head  in  the  direction  where  No-Thumb-Jack  had  stood.  Jack 
was  just  making  for  the  door  on  the  heels  of  the  last  of  those 
pressing  to  get  out. 

The  Boy's  low  cry  was  drowned  in  the  din.  He  lunged  for 
ward,  but  the  Colonel  gripped  him.  Looking  up,  he  saw  that 
Kentucky  understood,  and  meant  somehow  to  manage  the  busi 
ness  quietly. 

Jack  was  trying,  now  right,  now  left,  to  force  his  way 
through  the  congestion  at  the  door,  like  a  harried  rabbit  at  a 
wattled  fence.  A  touch  on  the  shoulder  simultaneously  with 
the  click  of  a  trigger  at  his  ear  brought  his  face  round  over  his 
shoulder.  He  made  the  instinctive  pioneer  motion  to  his  hip, 
looked  into  the  bore  of  the  Colonel's  pistol,  and  under  Keith's 
grip  dropped  his  "gun-hand"  with  a  smothered  oath. 

Or  was  it  that  other  weapon  in  the  Colonel's  left  that 
bleached  the  ruddy  face?  Simply  the  block  of  wood.  On  the 
under  side,  dried  in,  like  a  faint  stain,  four  muddy  finger-prints, 
index  joint  lacking.  Without  a  word  the  Colonel  turned  the 
upper  side  out.  A  smudge? — no — the  grain  of  human  skin  clean 
printed — a  distorted  palm  without  a  thumb.  Only  one  man  in 
Minook  could  make  that  sign  manual! 

The  last  of  the  crowd  were  over  the  threshold  now,  and  still 
no  word  was  spoken  by  those  who  stayed  behind,  till  the  Colonel 
said  to  the  Boy: 

341 


THE    MAGNETIC   NORTH 

"Go  with  'em,  and  look  after  Butts.  Give  us  five  minutes; 
more  if  you  can!" 

He  laid  the  block  on  a  cracker-box,  and,  keeping  pistol  and 
eye  still  on  the  thief,  took  his  watch  in  his  left  hand,  as  the 
Boy  shot  through  the  door. 

Butts  was  making  a  good  fight  for  his  life,  but  he  was  be 
coming  exhausted.  The  leading  spirits  were  running  him  down 
the  bank  to  where  a  crooked  cotton-wood  leaned  cautiously  over 
the  Never-Know-What,  as  if  to  spy  out  the  river's  secret. 

But  after  arriving  there,  they  were  a  little  delayed  for  lack 
of  what  they  called  tackle.  They  sent  a  man  off  for  it,  and  then 
sent  another  to  hurry  up  the  man.  The  Boy  stood  at  the  edge 
of  the  crowd,  a  little  above  them,  watching  Maudie's  door,  and 
with  feverish  anxiety  turning  every  few  seconds  to  see  how  it 
was  with  Butts. 

Up  in  the  cabin  No-Thumb-Jack  had  pulled  out  of  the  usual 
capacious  pockets  of  the  miner's  brown-duck — pockets  that 
fasten  with  a  patent  snap — a  tattered  pocket-book,  fat  with  bills. 
He  plunged  deeper  and  brought  up  Pacific  Coast  eagles  and  five- 
dollar  pieces,  Canadian  and  American  gold  that  went  rolling 
out  of  his  maimed  and  nervous  hand  across  the  tablet  to  the 
scales  and  set  the  brass  pans  sawing  up  and  down. 

Keith,  his  revolver  still  at  full  cock,  had  picked  up  a  trampled 
bit  of  paper  near  the  stove.  Corey's  list.  Left-handedly  he  piled 
up  the  money,  counting,  comparing. 

"Quick!  the  dust!"  ordered  the  Colonel.  Out  of  a  left  hip- 
pocket  a  long,  tight-packed  buckskin  bag.  Another  from  a  side- 
pocket,  half  the  size  and  a  quarter  as  full. 

"That's  mine,"  said  Jack,  and  made  a  motion  to  recover. 

"Let  it  alone.    Turn  out  everything.     Nuggets!" 

A  miner's  chamois  belt  unbuckled  and  flung  heavily  down. 
The  scales  jingled  and  rocked;  every  pocket  in  the  belt  was 
stuffed. 

"Where's  the  rest?" 

"There  ain't  any  rest.    That's  every  damned  pennyweight." 

"Maybe  we  ought  to  weigh  it,  and  see  if  he's  lying?" 

'  Tore  God  it's  all !  Let  me  go !"  He  had  kept  looking 
through  the  crack  of  the  door. 

"Reckon  it's  about  right,"  said  Keith. 

" 'Tain't  right!  There's  more  there'n  I  took.  My  stuff's 
there  too.  For  Christ's  sake,  let  me  go !" 

"Look  here,  Jack,  is  the  little  bag  yours?" 

342 


A   MINERS'    MEETING 

Jack  wet  his  dry  lips  and  nodded  "Yes." 

The  Colonel  snatched  up  the  smaller  bag  and  thrust  it 
into  the  man's  hands.  Jack  made  for  the  door.  The  Colonel 
stopped  him. 

"Better  take  to  the  woods,"  he  said,  with  a  motion  back  to 
wards  the  window.  The  Colonel  opened  the  half-closed  door 
and  looked  out,  as  Jack  pushed  aside  the  table,  tore  away  the 
red  curtain,  hammered  at  the  sash,  then,  desperate,  set  his  shoul 
der  at  it  and  forced  the  whole  thing  out.  He  put  his  maimed 
hand  on  the  sill  and  vaulted  after  the  shattered  glass. 

They  could  see  him  going  like  the  wind  up  towards  his  own 
shack  at  the  edge  of  the  wood,  looking  back  once  or  twice, 
doubling  and  tacking  to  keep  himself  screened  by  the  haphazard, 
hillside  cabins,  out  of  sight  of  the  lynchers  down  at  the  river. 

"Will  you  stay  with  this?"  the  Colonel  had  asked  Keith 
hurriedly,  nodding  at  the  treasure-covered  table,  and  catching 
up  the  finger-marked  block  before  Jack  was  a  yard  from  the 
wrindow. 

"Yes,"  Keith  had  said,  revolver  still  in  hand  and  eyes  on  the 
man  Minook  was  to  see  no  more.  The  Colonel  met  the  Boy 
running  breathless  up  the  bank. 

"Can't  hold  'em  any  longer,"  he  shouted;  "you're  takin'  it 
pretty  easy  while  a  man's  gettin'  killed  down  here." 

"Stop!  Wait!'  The  Colonel  floundered  madly  through  the 
slush  and  mud,  calling  and  gesticulating,  "I've  got  the  thief!" 

Presto  all  the  backs  of  heads  became  faces. 

"Got  the  money?"  screamed  Maudie,  uncovering  her  eyes. 
She  had  gone  to  the  execution,  but  after  the  rope  was  brought, 
her  nerve  failed  her,  and  she  was  sobbing  -hysterically  into  her 
two  palms  held  tight  over  her  eyes. 

"Oh,  you  had  it,  did  you?"  called  out  McGinty  with  easy 
insolence. 

"Look  here!"  The  Colonel  held  up  the  bit  of  flooring  with 
rapid  explanation. 

"Where  is  he?" 

"Got  him  locked  up?" 

Everybody  talked  at  once.  The  Colonel  managed  to  keep 
them  going  for  some  moments  before  he  admitted. 

"Reckon  he's  lit  out."  And  then  the  Colonel  got  it  hot  and 
strong  for  his  clumsiness. 

"Which  way'd  he  go?" 

The  Colonel  turned  his  back  to  the  North  Pole,  and 

343 


THE    MAGNETIC   NORTH 

made   a   fine   large   gesture   in   the   general    direction   of   the 
Equator. 

"Where's  my  money?" 

"Up  in  your  cabin.     Better  go  and  count  it." 

A  good  many  were  willing  to  help  since  they'd  been  cheated 
out  of  a  hanging,  and  even  defrauded  of  a  shot  at  a  thief  on 
the  wing.  Nobody  seemed  to  care  to  remain  in  the  neighbour 
hood  of  the  crooked  cotton-wood.  The  crowd  was  dispersing 
somewhat  sheepishly. 

Nobody  looked  at  Butts,  and  yet  he  was  a  sight  to  see.  His 
face  and  his  clothes  were  badly  mauled.  He  was  covered  with 
mud  and  blood.  When  the  men  were  interrupted  in  trying  to 
get  the  noose  over  his  head,  he  had  stood  quite  still  in  the  midst 
of  the  crowd  till  it  broke  and  melted  away  from  him.  He 
looked  round,  passed  his  hand  over  his  eyes,  threw  open  his  torn 
coat,  and  felt  in  his  pockets. 

"Who's  got  my  tobacco?"  says  he. 

Several  men  turned  back  suddenly,  and  several  pouches  were 
held  out,  but  nobody  met  Butts'  eyes.  He  filled  his  pipe,  nor 
did  his  hand  shake  any  more  than  those  that  held  the  tobacco- 
bags.  When  he  had  lit  up,  "Who's  got  my  Smith  and  Wesson?" 
he  called  out  to  the  backs  of  the  retiring  citizens.  Windy  Jim 
stood  and  delivered.  Butts  walked  away  to  his  cabin,  swaying 
a  little,  as  if  he'd  had  more  hootch  than  he  could  carry. 

"What  would  you  have  said,"  demanded  the  Boy,  "if  you'd 
hung  the  wrong  man?" 

"Said?"  echoed  McGinty.  "Why,  we'd  'a'  said  that  time 
the  corpse  had  the  laugh  on  us." 

A  couple  of  hours  later  Keith  put  an  excited  face  into  his 
shack,  where  the  Colonel  and  the  Boy  were  just  crawling  under 
their  blankets. 

"Thought  you  might  like  to  know,  that  Miners'  Meeting 
that  was  interrupted  is  having  an  extra  session." 

They  followed  him  down  to  the  Court  through  a  fine  rain. 
The  night  was  heavy  and  thick.  As  they  splashed  along  Keith 
explained : 

"Of  course,  Charlie  knew  there  wasn't  room  enough  in 
Alaska  now  for  Butts  and  him ;  and  he  thought  he'd  better  send 
Butts  home.  So  he  took  his  gun  and  went  to  call." 

"Don't  tell  me  that  poor  devil's  killed  after  all." 

"Not  a  bit.  Butts  is  a  little  bunged  up,  but  he's  the  handier 
man,  even  so.  He  drew  the  first  bead." 

344 


THE    ICE   GOES   OUT 

"Charlie  hurt?" 

"No,  he  isn't  hurt.     He's  dead.    Three  or  four  fellows  had 
just  looked   in,  on   the   quiet,   to  kind  of  apologise  to   Butts. 
They're  down  at  Corey's  now  givin'  evidence  against  him." 
"So  Butts  '11  have  to  swing  after  all.    Is  he  in  Court?" 
"Yes — been  a  busy  day  for  Butts." 

A  confused  noise  came  suddenly  out  of  the  big  cabin  they 
were  nearing.  They  opened  the  door  with  difficulty,  and  forced 
their  way  into  the  reeking,  crowded  room  for  the  second  time 
that  night.  Everybody  seemed  to  be  talking — nobody  listening. 
Dimly  through  dense  clouds  of  tobacco-smoke  "the  prisoner  at 
the  Bar"  was  seen  to  be — what — no!  Yes — shaking  hands 
with  the  Judge. 

'Verdict  already?" 

'Oh,  that  kind  o'  case  don't  take  a  feller  like  Corey  long." 

'What's  the  decision  ?" 

'Prisoner  discharged.     Charlie  Le  Gros  committed  suicide." 

'Suicide!" 

* by  goin'  with  his  gun  to  Butts'  shack  lookin'  f  trouble." 


345 


CHAPTER   XIX 

THE   ICE   GOES   OUT 
"  I  am  apart  of  all  that  I  have  seen." 

IT  had  been  thawing  and  freezing,  freezing  and  thawing,  for 
so  long  that  men  lost  account  of  the  advance  of  a  summer 

coming,  with  such  balked,  uncertain  steps.  Indeed,  the 
weather  variations  had  for  several  weeks  been  so  great  that 
no  journey,  not  the  smallest,  could  be  calculated  with  any  as 
surance.  The  last  men  to  reach  Minook  were  two  who  had 
made  a  hunting  and  prospecting  trip  to  an  outlying  district. 
They  had  gone  there  in  six  days,  and  were  nineteen  in  returning. 

The  slush  was  waist-deep  in  the  gulches.  On  the  benches, 
in  the  snow,  holes  appeared,  as  though  red-hot  stones  had  been 
thrown  upon  the  surface.  The  little  settlement  by  the  mouth 
of  the  Minook  sat  insecurely  on  the  boggy  hillside,  and  its  in 
habitants  waded  knee-deep  in  soaking  tundra  moss  and  mire. 

And  now,  down  on  the  Never-Know-What,  water  was  begin 
ning  to  run  on  the  marginal  ice.  Up  on  the  mountains  the 
drifted  snow  was  honey-combed.  Whole  fields  of  it  gave  way 
and  sunk  a  foot  under  any  adventurous  shoe.  But  although 
these  changes  had  been  wrought  slowly,  with  backsets  of  bitter 
nights,  when  everything  was  frozen  hard  as  flint,  the  illusion 
was  general  that  summer  came  in  with  a  bound.  On  the  gth 
of  May,  Minook  went  to  bed  in  winter,  and  woke  to  find  the 
snow  almost  gone  under  the  last  nineteen  hours  of  hot,  unwink 
ing  sunshine,  and  the  first  geese  winging  their  way  up  the  val 
ley — sight  to  stir  men's  hearts.  Stranger  still,  the  eight  months' 
Arctic  silence  broken  suddenly  by  a  thousand  voices.  Under 
every  snow-bank  a  summer  murmur,  very  faint  at  first,  but 
hourly  louder — the  sound  of  falling  water  softly  singing  over 
all  the  land. 

As  silence  had  been  the  distinguishing  feature  of  the  winter, 
so  was  noise  the  sign  of  the  spring.  No  ear  so  dull  but  now  was 
full  of  it.  All  the  brooks  on  all  the  hills,  tinkling,  tumbling,  bab- 

346 


THE    ICE   GOES   OUT 

bling  of  some  great  and  universal  joy,  all  the  streams  of  all  the 
gulches  joining  with  every  little  rill  to  find  the  old  way,  or  to 
carve  a  new,  back  to  the  Father  of  Waters. 

And  the  strange  thing  had  happened  on  the  Yukon.  The 
shore-edges  of  the  ice  seemed  sunken,  and  the  water  ran  yet 
deeper  there.  But  of  a  certainty  the  middle  part  had  risen! 
The  cheechalkos  thought  it  an  optical  illusion.  But  old  Brandt 
from  Forty-Mile  had  seen  the  ice  go  out  for  two-and-twTenty 
years,  and  he  said  it  went  out  always  so— "humps  his  back,  an' 
gits  up  gits,  and  when  he's  a  gitten',  jest  look  out!"  Those 
who,  in  spite  of  warning,  ventured  in  hip-boots  down  on  the 
Never-Know-What,  found  that,  in  places,  the  under  side  of 
the  ice  was  worn  nearly  through.  If  you  bent  your  head  and 
listened,  you  could  plainly  hear  that  greater  music  of  the  river 
running  underneath,  low  as  yet,  but  deep,  and  strangely  stir 
ring — dominating  in  the  hearer's  ears  all  the  clear,  high 
clamour  from  gulch  and  hill. 

In  some  men's  hearts  the  ice  "went  out"  at  the  sound,  and 
the  melting  welled  up  in  their  eyes.  Summer  and  liberty  were 
very  near. 

"Oh,  hurry,  Yukon  Inua;  let  the  ice  go  out  and  let  the  boats 
come  in." 

But  the  next  few  days  hung  heavily.  The  river-ice  humped 
its  back  still  higher,  but  showed  no  disposition  to  "git."  The 
wronder  was  it  did  not  crack  under  the  strain;  but  Northern 
ice  ahs  the  air  of  being  strangely  flexile.  Several  feet  in  depth, 
the  water  ran  now  along  the  margin. 

More  geese  and  ducks  appeared,  and  flocks  of  little  birds — 
Canada  jays,  robins,  joined  the  swelling  chorus  of  the  waters. 

Oh,  hurry,  hurry  Inua,  and  open  the  great  highway!  Not 
at  Minook  alone:  at  every  wood  camp,  mining  town  and  mis 
sion,  at  every  white  post  and  Indian  village,  all  along  the 
Yukon,  groups  were  gathered  waiting  the  great  moment  of  the 
year. 

No  one  had  ever  heard  of  the  ice  breaking  up  before  the  nth 
of  May  or  later  than  the  a8th.  And  yet  men  had  begun  to 
keep  a  hopeful  eye  on  the  river  from  the  loth  of  April,  when 
a  wrhite  ptarmigan  was  reported  wearing  a  collar  of  dark- 
brown  feathers,  and  his  wings  tipped  brown.  That  was  a 
month  ago,  and  the  great  moment  could  not  possibly  be  far 
now. 

The  first  thing  everybody  did  on  getting  up,  and  the  last 

347 


THE    MAGNETIC    NORTH 

thing  everybody  did  on  going  to  bed,  was  to  look  at  the  river. 
It  was  not  easy  to  go  to  bed ;  and  even  if  you  got  so  far  it  was 
not  easy  to  sleep.  The  sun  poured  into  the  cabins  by  night  as 
well  as  by  day,  and  there  was  nothing  to  divide  one  part  of 
the  twenty-four  hours  from  another.  You  slept  when  you 
were  too  tired  to  watch  the  river.  You  breakfasted,  like  as 
not,  at  six  in  the  evening;  you  dined  at  midnight.  Through  all 
your  waking  hours  you  kept  an  eye  on  the  window  overlooking 
the  river.  In  your  bed  you  listened  for  that  ancient  Yukon 
cry,  "The  ice  is  going  out!" 

For  ages  it  had  meant  to  the  timid :  Beware  the  fury  of  the 
shattered  ice-fields;  beware  the  caprice  of  the  flood.  Watch! 
lest  many  lives  go  out  with  the  ice  as  aforetime.  And  for  ages 
to  the  stout-hearted  it  had  meant:  Make  ready  the  kyaks  and 
the  birch  canoes;  see  that  tackle  and  traps  are  strong — for 
plenty  or  famine  wait  upon  the  hour.  As  the  white  men 
waited  for  boats  to-day,  the  men  of  the  older  time  had  waited 
for  the  salmon — for  those  first  impatient  adventurers  that 
would  force  their  way  under  the  very  ice-jam,  tenderest  and 
best  of  the  season's  catch,  as  eager  to  prosecute  that  journey 
from  the  ocean  to  the  Klondyke  as  if  they  had  been  men  march 
ing  after  the  gold  boom. 

No  one  could  settle  to  anything.  It  was  by  fits  and  starts 
that  the  steadier  hands  indulged  even  in  taget  practice,  with  a 
feverish  subconsciousness  that  events  were  on  the  way  that 
might  make  it  inconvenient  to  have  lost  the  art  of  sending  a 
bullet  straight.  After  a  diminutive  tin  can,  hung  on  a  tree, 
had  been  made  to  jump  at  a  hundred  paces,  the  marksman 
would  glance  at  the  river  and  forget  to  fire.  It  was  by  fits 
and  starts  that  they  even  drank  deeper  or  played  for  higher 
stakes. 

The  Wheel  of  Fortune,  in  the  Gold  Nugget,  was  in  special 
demand.  It  was  a  means  of  trying  your  luck  with  satisfactory 
despatch  "between  drinks"  or  between  long  bouts  of  staring 
at  the  river.  Men  stood  in  shirt-sleeves  at  their  cabin  doors 
in  the  unwinking  sunshine,  looking  up  the  valley  or  down, 
betting  that  the  "first  boat  in"  would  be  one  of  those  nearest 
neighbours,  May  West  or  Muckluck,  coming  up  from  Wood- 
worth;  others  as  ready  to  back  heavily  their  opinion  that  the 
first  blast  of  the  steam  whistle  would  come  down  on  the  flood 
from  Circle  or  from  Dawson. 

The  Colonel  had  bought  and  donned  a  new  suit  of  "store 

348 


THE    ICE   GOES    OUT 

clothes,"  and  urged  on  his  companion  the  necessity  of  at  least 
a  whole  pair  of  breeches  in  honour  of  his  entrance  into  the 
Klondyke.  But  the  Boy's  funds  were  low  and  his  vanity 
chastened.  Besides,  he  had  other  business  on  his  mind. 

After  sending  several  requests  for  the  immediate  return  of 
his  dog,  requests  that  received  no  attention,  the  Boy  went 
out  to  the  gulch  to  recover  him.  Nig's  new  master  paid  up  all 
arrears  of  wages  readily  enough,  but  declined  to  surrender  the 
dog.  "Oh,  no,  the  ice  wasn't  thinkin'  o'  goin'  out  yit." 

"I  want  my  dog." 

"You'll  git  him  sure." 

"I'm  glad  you  understand  that  much." 

"I'll  bring  him  up  to  Rampart  in  time  for  the  first  boat." 

"Where's  my  dog?" 

No  answer.  The  Boy  whistled.  No  Nig.  Dread  masked 
itself  in  choler.  He  jumped  on  the  fellow,  forced  him  down, 
and  hammered  him  till  he  cried  for  mercy. 

"Where's  my  dog,  then?" 

"He — he's  up  to  Idyho  Bar,"  whimpered  the  prostrate  one. 
And  there  the  Boy  found  him,  staggering  under  a  pair  of  sad 
dle-bags,  hired  out  to  Mike  O'Reilly  for  a  dollar  and  a  half 
a  day.  Together  they  returned  to  Rampart  to  watch  for  the 
boat. 

Certainly  the  ice  was  very  late  breaking  up  this  year.  The 
men  of  Rampart  stood  about  in  groups  in  the  small  hours  of 
the  morning  of  the  i6th  of  May;  as  usual,  smoking,  yarning, 
speculating,  inventing  elaborate  joshes.  Somebody  remem 
bered  that  certain  cheechalkos  had  gone  to  bed  at  midnight. 
Now  this  was  unprecedented,  even  impertinent.  If  the  river 
is  not  open  by  the  middle  of  May,  your  Sour-dough  may  go  to 
bed — only  he  doesn't.  Still,  he  may  do  as  he  lists.  But  your 
cheechalko — why,  this  is  the  hour  of  his  initiation.  It  was  as 
if  a  man  should  yawn  at  his  marriage  or  refuse  to  sleep  at  his 
funeral.  The  offenders  were  some  of  those  Woodworth  fel 
lows,  who,  with  a  dozen  or  so  others,  had  built  shacks  below 
"the  street"  yet  well  above  the  river.  At  two  in  the  morning 
Sour-dough  Saunders  knocked  them  up. 

''The  ice  is  goin    out!" 

In  a  flash  the  sleepers  stood  at  the  door. 

"Only  a  josh."    One  showed  fight. 

"Well,  it's  true  what  I'm  tellin'  yer,"  persisted  Saunders 
seriously:  "the  ice  is  goin'  out,  and  it's  goin'  soon,  and  when 

349 


THE    MAGNETIC   NORTH 

you're  washed  out  o'  yer  bunks  ye  needn't  blame  me,  fur  I 
warned  yer." 

"You  don't  mean  the  flood  '11  come  up  here?" 

"Mebbe  you've  arranged  so  she  won't  this  year." 

The  cheechalkos  consulted.  In  the  end,  four  of  them  oc 
cupied  the  next  two  hours  (to  the  infinite  but  masked  amuse 
ment  of  the  town)  in  floundering  about  in  the  mud,  setting 
up  tents  in  the  boggy  wood  above  the  settlement,  and  with 
much  pains  transporting  thither  as  many  of  their  possessions  as 
they  did  not  lose  in  the  bottomless  pit  of  the  mire. 

When  the  business  was  ended,  Minook  self-control  gave  way. 
The  cheechalkos  found  themselves  the  laughing-stock  of  the 
town.  The  others,  who  had  dared  to  build  down  on  the  bank, 
but  who  ' 'hadn't  scared  worth  a  cent,"  sauntered  up  to  the 
Gold  Nugget  to  enjoy  the  increased  esteem  of  the  Sour-doughs, 
and  the  humiliation  of  the  men  who  had  thought  "the  Yukon 
was  goin'  over  the  Ramparts  this  year — haw,  haw!" 

It  surprises  the  average  mind  to  discover  that  one  of  civiliza 
tion's  most  delicate  weapons  is  in  such  use  and  is  so  potently 
dreaded  among  the  roughest  frontier  spirits.  No  fine  gentle 
man  in  a  drawing-room,  no  sensitive  girl,  shrinks  more  from 
what  Meredith  calls  "the  comic  laugh,"  none  feels  irony  more 
keenly  than  your  ordinary  American  pioneer.  The  men  who 
had  moved  up  into  the  soaking  wood  saw  they  had  run  a  risk 
as  great  to  them  as  the  fabled  danger  of  the  river — the  risk  of 
the  josher's  irony,  the  dire  humiliation  of  the  laugh.  If  a  man 
up  here  does  you  an  injury,  and  you  kill  him,  you  haven't  after 
all  taken  the  ultimate  revenge.  You  might  have  "got  the  laugh 
on  him,"  and  let  him  live  to  hear  it. 

While  all  Minook  was  "jollying"  the  Woodworth  men, 
Maudie  made  one  of  her  sudden  raids  out  of  the  Gold  Nugget. 
She  stood  nearly  up  to  the  knees  of  her  high  rubber  boots  in  the 
bog  of  "Main  Street,"  talking  earnestly  with  the  Colonel. 
Keith  and  the  Boy,  sitting  on  a  store  box  outside  of  the  saloon, 
had  looked  on  at  the  fun  over  the  timid  cheechalkos,  and  looked 
on  now  at  Maudie  and  the  Colonel.  It  crossed  the  Boy's  mind 
that  they'd  be  putting  up  a  josh  on  his  pardner  pretty  soon,  and 
at  the  thought  he  frowned. 

Keith  had  been  saying  that  the  old  miners  had  nearly  all 
got  "squawed."  He  had  spoken  almost  superstitiously  of  the 
queer,  lasting  effect  of  the  supposedly  temporary  arrangement. 

"No,  they  don't  leave  their  wives  as  often  as  you'd  expect, 

350 


THE   ICE   GOES   OUT 

but  in  most  cases  it  seems  to  kill  the  pride  of  the  man.  He 
gives  up  all  idea  of  ever  going  home,  and  even  if  he  makes  a 
fortune,  they  say,  he  stays  on  here.  And  year  by  year  he  sinks 
lower  and  lower,  till  he's  farther  down  in  the  scale  of  things 
human  than  his  savage  wife." 

"Yes,  it's  awful  to  think  how  the  life  up  here  can  take  the 
stiffening  out  of  a  fella." 

He  looked  darkly  at  the  two  out  there  in  the  mud.  Keith 
nodded. 

"Strong  men  have  lain  down  on  the  trail  this  winter  and 
cried."  But  it  wasn't  that  sort  of  thing  the  other  meant. 

Keith  followed  his  new  friend's  glowering  looks. 

"Yes.    That's  just  the  kind  of  man  that  gets  taken  in." 

"What?"  said  the  Boy  brusquely. 

"Just  the  sort  that  goes  and  marries  some  flighty  creature." 

"Well,"  said  his  pardner  haughtily,  "he  could  afford  to 
marry  'a  flighty  creature.'  The  Colonel's  got  both  feet  on  the 
ground."  And  Keith  felt  properly  snubbed.  But  what 
Maudie  was  saying  to  the  Colonel  was: 

"You're  goin'  up  in  the  first  boat,  I  s'pose?" 

"Yes." 

"Looks  like  I'll  be  the  only  person  left  in  Minook." 

"I  don't  imagine  you'll  be  quite  alone." 

"No?  Why,  there's  only  between  five  and  six  hundred  ex- 
pectin'  to  board  a  boat  that'll  be  crowded  before  she  gets  here." 

"Does  everybody  want  to  go  to  Dawson?" 

"Everybody .except  a  few  boomers  who  mean  to  stay  long 
enough  to  play  off  their  misery  on  someone  else  before  they 
move  on." 

The  Colonel  looked  a  trifle  anxious. 

"I  hadn't  thought  of  that.  I  suppose  there  will  be  a  race 
for  the  boat." 

"There'll  be  a  race  all  the  way  up  the  river  for  all  the  early 
boats.  Ain't  half  enough  to  carry  the  people.  But  you  look 
to  me  like  you'll  stand  as  good  a  chance  as  most,  and  anyhow, 
you're  the  one  man  I  know,  I'll  trust  my  dough  to." 

The  Colonel  stared. 

"You  see,  I  want  to  get  some  money  to  my  kiddie,  an'  be 
sides,  I  got  m'self  kind  o'  scared  about  keepin'  dust  in  my  cabin. 
I  want  it  in  a  bank,  so  's  if  I  should  kick  the  bucket  (there'll 
be  some  pretty  high  rollin'  here  when  there's  been  a  few  boats 
in,  and  my  life's  no  better  than  any  other  feller's),  I'd  feel  a 

351 


THE    MAGNETIC   NORTH 

lot  easier  if  I  knew  the  kiddie  'd  have  six  thousand  clear,  even 
if  I  did  turn  up  my  toes.     See?" 

"A— yes— I  see.     But " 

The  door  of  the  cabin  next  the  saloon  opened  suddenly.  A 
graybeard  with  a  young  face  came  out  rubbing  the  sleep  from 
his  eyes.  He  stared  interrogatively  at  the  river,  and  then  to 
the  world  in  general: 

"What  time  is  it?" 

"Half-past  four." 

"Mornin'  or  evenin'?"  and  no  one  thought  the  question 
strange. 

Maudie  lowered  her  voice. 

"No  need  to  mention  it  to  pardners  and  people.  You  don't 
want  every  feller  to  know  you're  goin'  about  loaded ;  but  will 
you  take  my  dust  up  to  Dawson  and  get  it  sent  to  'Frisco  on 
the  first  boat?" 

"The  ice!  the  ice!     It's  moving!" 

"The  ice  is  going  out!" 

"Look!  the  ice!" 

From  end  to  end  of  the  settlement  the  cry  was  taken  up. 
People  darted  out  of  cabins  like  beavers  out  of  their  burrows. 
Three  little  half-breed  Indian  boys,  yelling  with  excitement, 
tore  past  the  Gold  Nugget,  crying  now  in  their  mother's 
Minook,  now  in  their  father's  English,  "The  ice  is  going  out!" 
From  the  depths  of  the  store-box  whereon  his  master  had  sat, 
Nig  darted,  howling  excitedly  and  waving  a  muddy  tail  like 
a  draggled  banner,  saying  in  Mahlemeut:  "The  ice  is  going 
out!  The  fish  are  coming  in."  All  the  other  dogs  waked  and 
gave  tongue,  running  in  and  out  among  the  huddled  rows  of 
people  gathered  on  the  Ramparts. 

Every  ear  full  of  the  rubbing,  grinding  noise  that  came  up 
out  of  the  Yukon — noise  not  loud,  but  deep — an  undercurrent 
of  heavy  sound.  As  they  stood  there,  wide-eyed,  gaping,  their 
solid  winter  world  began  to  move.  A  compact  mass  of  ice, 
three-quarters  of  a  mile  wide  and  four  miles  long,  with  a  great 
grinding  and  crushing  went  dowrn  the  valley.  Some  distance 
below  the  town  it  jammed,  building  with  incredible  quickness 
a  barrier  twenty  feet  high. 

The  people  waited  breathless.  Again  the  ice-mass  trembled. 
But  the  watchers  lifted  their  eyes  to  the  heights  above.  Was 
that  thunder  in  the  hills?  No,  the  ice  again;  again  crushing, 
grinding,  to  the  low  accompaniment  of  thunder  that  seemed  to 
come  from  far  away. 

352 


THE    ICE   GOES    OUT 

Sections  a  mile  long  and  half  a  mile  wide  were  forced  up, 
carried  over  the  first  ice-pack,  and  summarily  stopped  below  the 
barrier.  Huge  pieces,  broken  off  from  the  sides,  came  crunch 
ing  their  way  angrily  up  the  bank,  as  if  acting  on  some  in 
dependent  impulse.  There  they  sat,  great  fragments,  glisten 
ing  in  the  sunlight,  as  big  as  cabins.  It  was  something  to  see 
them  come  walking  up  the  shelving  bank!  The  cheechalkos 
who  laughed  before  are  contented  now  with  running,  leaving 
their  goods  behind.  Sour-dough  Saunders  himself  never 
dreamed  the  ice  would  push  its  way  so  far. 

In  mid-channel  a  still  unbroken  sheet  is  bent  yet  more  in  the 
centre.  Every  now  and  then  a  wride  crack  opens  near  the 
margin,  and  the  water  rushes  out  with  a  roar.  Once  more  the 
mass  is  nearly  still,  and  now  all's  silent.  Not  till  the  water, 
dammed  and  thrown  back  by  the  ice,  not  until  it  rises  many 
feet  and  comes  down  with  a  volume  and  momentum  irresisti 
ble,  will  the  final  conflict  come. 

Hour  after  hour  the  people  stand  there  on  the  bank,  waiting 
to  see  the  barrier  go  down.  Unwillingly,  as  the  time  goes  on, 
this  one,  that  one,  hurries  away  for  a  few  minutes  to  prepare 
and  devour  a  meal,  back  again,  breathless,  upon  rumour  of  that 
preparatory  trembling,  that  strange  thrilling  of  the  ice.  The 
grinding  and  the  crushing  had  begun  again. 

The  long  tension,  the  mysterious  sounds,  the  sense  of  some 
great  unbridled  power  at  work,  wrought  on  the  steadiest 
nerves.  People  did  the  oddest  things.  Down  at  the  lower  end 
of  the  town  a  couple  of  miners,  sick  of  the  scurvy,  had  pain 
fully  clambered  on  their  roof — whether  to  see  the  sights  or  be 
out  of  harm's  wray,  no  one  knew.  The  stingiest  man  in 
Minook,  who  had  refused  to  help  them  in  their  cabin,  carried 
them  food  on  the  roof.  A  woman  made  and  took  them  the 
Yukon  remedy  for  their  disease.  They  sat  in  state  in  sight 
of  all  men,  and  drank  spruce  tea. 

By  one  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  the  river  had  risen  eight  feet, 
but  the  ice  barrier  still  held.  The  people,  worn  out,  went  away 
to  sleep.  All  that  night  the  barrier  held,  though  more  ice  came 
down  and  still  the  water  rose.  Twelve  feet  now.  The  ranks 
of  shattered  ice  along  the  shore  are  claimed  again  as  the  flood 
widens  and  licks  them  in.  The  cheechalkos'  cabins  are  flooded 
to  the  eaves.  Stout  fellows  in  hip-boots  take  a  boat  and  rescue 
the  scurvy-stricken  from  the  roof.  And  still  the  barrier  held. 

People  began  to  go  about  their  usual  avocations.  The  empty 

353 


THE   MAGNETIC   NORTH 

Gold  Nugget  filled  again.  Men  sat,  as  they  had  done  all  the 
winter,  drinking,  and  reading  the  news  of  eight  months  before, 
out  of  soiled  and  tattered  papers. 

Late  the  following  day  everyone  started  up  at  a  new 
sound.  Again  miners,  Indians,  and  dogs  lined  the  bank,  saw 
the  piled  ice  masses  tremble,  heard  a  crashing  and  grinding  as 
of  mountains  of  glass  hurled  together,  saw  the  barrier  give 
way,  and  the  frozen  wastes  move  down  on  the  bosom  of  the 
flood.  Higher  yet  the  water  rose — the  current  ran  eight  miles 
an  hour.  And  now  the  ice  masses  were  less  enormous,  more 
broken.  Somewhere  far  below  another  jam.  Another  long 
bout  of  waiting. 

Birds  are  singing  everywhere.  Between  the  white  snow 
drifts  the  Arctic  moss  shows  green  and  yellow,  white  flowers 
star  the  hills. 

Half  the  town  is  packed,  ready  to  catch  the  boat  at  five 
minutes'  notice.  With  door  barred  and  red  curtain  down, 
Maudie  is  doing  up  her  gold-dust  for  the  Colonel  to  take  to 
Dawson.  The  man  who  had  washed  it  out  of  a  Birch  Creek 
placer,  and  "blowed  it  in  fur  the  girl" — up  on  the  hillside  he 
sleeps  sound. 

The  two  who  had  broken  the  record  for  winter  travel  on 
the  Yukon,  side  by  side  in  the  sunshine,  on  a  plank  laid  across 
two  mackerel  firkins,  sit  and  watch  the  brimming  flood.  They 
speak  of  the  Big  Chimney  men,  picture  them,  packed  and  wait 
ing  for  the  Oklahoma,  wonder  what  they  have  done  with 
Kaviak,  and  what  the  three  months  have  brought  them. 

"When  we  started  out  that  day  from  the  Big  Chimney,  we 
thought  we'd  be  made  if  only  we  managed  to  reach  Minook." 

"Well,  we've  got  what  wre  came  for — each  got  a  claim."     ' 

"Oh,  yes." 

"A  good  claim,  too." 

"Guess  so." 

"Don't  you  know  the  gold's  there?" 

"Yes;  but  where  are  the  miners?  You  and  I  don't  propose 
to  spend  the  next  ten  years  in  gettin'  that  gold  out." 

"No;  but  there  are  plenty  who  would  if  we  gave  'em  the 
chance.  All  we  have  to  do  is  to  give  the  right  ones  the  chance." 

The  Colonel  wore  an  air  of  reflection. 

"The  district  will  be  opened  up,"  the  Boy  went  on  cheer 
fully,  "and  we'll  have  people  beggin'  us  to  let  'em  get  out  our 
gold,  and  givin'  us  the  lion's  share  for  the  privilege." 

354 


THE    ICE   GOES    OUT 

"Do  you  altogether  like  the  sound  o'  that?" 

''I  expect,  like  other  people,  I'll  like  the  result." 

"We  ought  to  see  some  things  clearer  than  other  people. 
We  had  our  lesson  on  the  trail,"  said  the  Colonel  quietly.  "No 
body  ought  ever  to  be  able  to  fool  us  about  the  power  and  the 
value  of  the  individual  apart  from  society.  Seems  as  if  associa 
tion  did  make  value.  In  the  absence  of  men  and  markets  a 
pit  full  of  gold  is  worth  no  more  than  a  pit  full  of  clay." 

"Oh,  yes;  I  admit,  till  the  boats  come  in,  we're  poor  men." 

"Nobody  will  stop  here  this  summer — they'll  all  be  racing 
on  to  Dawson." 

"Dawson's  'It,'  beyond  a  doubt." 

The  Colonel  laughed  a  little  ruefully. 

"We  used  to  say  Mi  nook." 

"I  said  Minook,  just  to  sound  reasonable,  but,  of  course,  I 
meant  Dawson." 

And  they  sat  there  thinking,  watching  the  ice-blocks  meet, 
crash,  go  down  in  foam,  and  come  up  again  on  the  lower 
reaches,  the  Boy  idly  swinging  the  great  Katharine's  medal  to 
and  fro.  In  his  buckskin  pocket  it  has  worn  so  bright  it 
catches  at  the  light  like  a  coin  fresh  from  the  mint. 

No  doubt  Muckluck  is  on  the  river-bank  at  Pymeut;  the 
one-eyed  Prince,  the  story-teller  Yagorsha,  even  Ol'  Chief — no 
one  will  be  indoors  to-day. 

Sitting  there  together,  they  saw  the  last  stand  made  by  the 
ice,  and  shared  that  moment  when  the  final  barrier,  somewhere 
far  below,  gave  way  with  boom  and  thunder.  The  mighty 
flood  ran  free,  tearing  up  trees  by  their  roots  as  it  ran,  detach 
ing  masses  of  rock,  dissolving  islands  into  swirling  sand  and 
drift,  carving  new  channels,  making  and  unmaking  the  land. 
The  water  began  to  fall.  It  had  been  a  great  time:  it  was 
ended. 

"Pardner,"  says  the  Colonel,  "we've  seen  the  ice  go  out." 

"No  fella  can  call  you  and  me  cheechalkos  after  to-day." 

"No,  sah.  We've  travelled  the  Long  Trail,  we've  seen  the 
ice  go  out,  and  we're  friends  yet." 

The  Kentuckian  took  his  pardner's  brown  hand  with  a  gen 
tle  solemnity,  seemed  about  to  say  something,  but  stopped,  and 
turned  his  bronzed  face  to  the  flood,  carried  back  upon  some 
sudden  tide  within  himself  to  those  black  days  on  the  trail, 
that  he  wanted  most  in  the  world  to  forget.  But  in  his  heart 
he  knew  that  all  dear  things,  all  things  kind  and  precious — his 

355 


THE    MAGNETIC    NORTH 

home,  a  woman's  face — all,  all  would  fade  before  he  forgot 
those  last  days  on  the  trail.  The  record  of  that  journey  was 
burnt  into  the  brain  of  the  men  who  had  made  it.  On  that 
stretch  of  the  Long  Trail  the  elder  had  grown  old,  and  the 
younger  had  forever  lost  his  youth.  Not  only  had  the  round 
ness  gone  out  of  his  face,  not  only  was  it  scarred,  but  such 
lines  were  graven  there  as  commonly  takes  the  antique  pencil 
half  a  score  of  years  to  trace. 

''Something  has  happened,"  the  Colonel  said  quite  low.  "We 
aren't  the  same  men  who  left  the  Big  Chimney." 

''Right!"  said  the  Boy,  with  a  laugh,  unwilling  as  yet  to 
accept  his  own  personal  revelation,  preferring  to  put  a  super 
ficial  interpretation  on  his  companion's  words.  He  glanced  at 
the  Colonel,  and  his  face  changed  a  little.  But  still  he  would 
not  understand.  Looking  down  at  the  chaparejos  that  he  had 
been  so  proud  of,  sadly  abbreviated  to  make  boots  for  Nig, 
jagged  here  and  there,  and  with  fringes  now  not  all  intentional, 
it  suited  him  to  pretend  that  the  "snaps"  had  suffered  most. 

"Yes,  the  ice  takes  the  kinks  out." 

"Whether  the  thing  that's  happened  is  good  or  evil,  I  don't 
pretend  to  say,"  the  other  went  on  gravely,  staring  at  the  river. 
"I  only  know  something's  happened.  There  were  possibilities — 
in  me,  anyhow — that  have  been  frozen  to  death.  Yes,  we're 
different." 

The  Boy  roused  himself,  but  only  to  persist  in  his  misinter 
pretation. 

"You  ain't  different  to  hurt.     If  I   started  out  again  to- 


"The  Lord  forbid!" 

"Amen.  But  if  I  had  to,  you're  the  only  man  in  Alaska — in 
the  world — I'd  want  for  my  pardner," 

"Boy !"  he  wrestled  with  a  slight  bronchial  huskiness, 

cleared  his  throat,  tried  again,  and  gave  it  up,  contenting  him 
self  with,  "Beg  your  pardon  for  callin'  you  'Boy.'  You're  a 
seasoned  old-timer,  sah."  And  the  Boy  felt  as  if  some  Sover 
eign  had  dubbed  him  Knight. 

In  a  day  or  two  now,  from  north  or  south,  the  first  boat 
must  appear.  The  willows  were  unfolding  their  silver  leaves. 
The  alder-buds  were  bursting;  geese  and  teal  and  mallard 
swarmed  about  the  river  margin.  Especially  where  the  equisetae 
showed  the  tips  of  their  feathery  green  tails  above  the  mud, 
ducks  flocked  and  feasted.  People  were  too  excited,  "too 

356 


THE    ICE   GOES    OUT 

busy,"  they  said,  looking  for  the  boats,  to  do  much  shooting. 
The  shy  birds  waxed  daring.  Keith,  standing  by  his  shack, 
knocked  over  a  mallard  within  forty  paces  of  his  door. 

It  was  eight  days  after  that  first  cry,  "The  ice  is  going  out !" 
four  since  the  final  jam  gave  way  and  let  the  floes  run  free,  that 
at  one  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  the  shout  went  up,  "A  boat!  a 
boat!" 

Only  a  lumberman's  bateau,  but  two  men  were  poling  her 
down  the  current  with  a  skill  that  matched  the  speed.  They 
swung  her  in.  A  dozen  hands  caught  at  the  painter  and  made 
fast.  A  young  man  stepped  ashore  and  introduced  himself  as 
Van  Alen,  Benham's  "Upper  River  pardner,  on  the  way  to 
Anvik." 

His  companion,  Donovan,  wras  from  Circle  City,  and  brought 
appalling  news.  The  boats  depended  on  for  the  early  summer 
traffic,  Bella,  and  three  other  N.  A.  T.  and  T.  steamers,  as 
well  as  the  A.  C.'s  Victoria  and  the  St.  Michael,  had  been  lifted 
up  by  the  ice  "like  so  many  feathers,"  forced  clean  out  of  the 
channel,  and  left  high  and  dry  on  a  sandy  ridge,  with  an  ice 
wall  eighty  feet  wide  and  fifteen  high  between  them  and  open 
water. 

"All  the  crews  hard  at  work  with  jackscrews,"  said  Dono 
van;  "and  if  they  can  get  skids  under,  and  a  channel  blasted 
through  the  ice,  they  may  get  the  boats  down  here  in  fifteen  or 
twenty  days." 

A  heavy  blow.  But  instantly  everyone  began  to  talk  of  the 
May  West  and  the  Muckluck  as  though  all  along  they  had 
looked  for  succour  to  come  up-stream  rather  than  down.  But 
as  the  precious  hours  passed,  a  deep  dejection  fastened  on  the 
camp.  There  had  been  a  year  when,  through  one  disaster  after 
another,  no  boats  had  got  to  the  Upper  River.  Not  even  the 
arrival  from  Dawson  of  the  Montana  Kid,  pugilist  and 
gambler,  could  raise  spirits  so  cast  down,  not  even  though  he 
was  said  to  bring  strange  news  from  outside. 

There  was  war  in  the  world  down  yonder — war  had  been 
formally  declared  between  America  and  Spain. 

Windy  slapped  his  thigh  in  humourous  despair. 

"Why  hadn't  he  thought  o'  gettin'  off  a  josh  like  that?" 

To  those  who  listened  to  the  Montana  Kid,  to  the  fretted 
spirits  of  men  eight  months  imprisoned,  the  States  and  her 
foreign  affairs  were  far  away  indeed,  and  as  for  the  other  party 
to  the  rumoured  war — Spain?  They  clutched  at  school  mem- 

357 


THE    MAGNETIC    NORTH 

ories  of  Columbus,  Americans  finding  through  him  the  way  to 
Spain,  as  through  him  Spaniards  had  found  the  way  to  America. 
So  Spain  was  not  merely  a  State  historic!  She  was  still  in  the 
active  world.  But  what  did  these  things  matter?  Boats  mat 
tered:  the  place  where  the  Klondykers  were  caught,  this 
Minook,  mattered.  And  so  did  the  place  they  wanted  to  reach 
— Dawson  mattered  most  of  all.  By  the  narrowed  habit  of 
long  months,  Dawson  was  the  centre  of  the  universe. 

More  little  boats  going  down,  and  still  nothing  going  up. 
Men  said  gloomily: 

"We're  done  for!  The  fellows  who  go  by  the  Canadian 
route  will  get  everything.  The  Dawson  season  will  be  half  over 
before  we're  in  the  field — if  we  ever  are!" 

The  28th  of  May!  Still  no  steamer  had  come,  but  the 
mosquitoes  had — bloodthirsty  beyond  any  the  temperate  cli 
mates  know.  It  was  clear  that  some  catastrophe  had  befallen 
the  Woodworth  boats.  And  Nig  had  been  lured  away  by  his 
quondam  master!  No,  they  had  not  gone  back  to  the  gulch — 
that  was  too  easy.  The  man  had  a  mind  to  keep  the  dog,  and, 
since  he  was  not  allowed  to  buy  him,  he  would  do  the  other 
thing. 

He  had  not  been  gone  an  hour,  rumour  said — had  taken  a 
scow  and  provisions,  and  dropped  down  the  river.  Utterly 
desperate,  the  Boy  seized  his  new  Nulato  gun  and  somebody 
else's  canoe.  Without  so  much  as  inquiring  whose,  he  shot 
down  the  swift  current  after  the  dog-thief.  He  roared  back  to 
the  remonstrating  Colonel  that  he  didn't  care  if  an  up-river 
steamer  did  come  while  he  was  gone — he  was  goin'  gunnin'. 

At  the  same  time  he  shared  the  now  general  opinion  that  a 
Lower  River  boat  would  reach  them  first,  and  he  was  only, 
going  to  meet  her,  meting  justice  by  the  way. 

He  had  gone  safely  more  than  ten  miles  down,  when  sud 
denly,  as  he  was  passing  an  island,  he  stood  up  in  his  boat,  bal 
anced  himself,  and  cocked  his  gun. 

Down  there,  on  the  left,  a  man  was  standing  knee-deep  in 
the  water,  trying  to  free  his  boat  from  a  fallen  tree ;  a  Siwash 
dog  watched  him  from  the  bank. 

The  Boy  whistled.  The  dog  threw  up  his  nose,  yapped  and 
whined.  The  man  had  turned  sharply,  saw  his  enemy  and  the 
levelled  gun.  He  jumped  into  the  boat,  but  she  was  filling 
while  he  bailed ;  the  dog  ran  along  the  island,  howling  fit  to 
raise  the  dead.  When  he  was  a  little  above  the  Boy's  boat  he 

358 


THE   ICE   GOES    OUT 

plunged  into  the  river.  Nig  was  a  good  swimmer,  but  the 
current  here  would  tax  the  best.  The  Boy  found  himself  so 
occupied  with  saving  Nig  from  a  watery  grave,  while  he  kept 
the  canoe  from  capsizing,  that  he  forgot  all  about  the  thief  till 
a  turn  in  the  river  shut  him  out  of  sight. 

The  canoe  was  moored,  and  while  trying  to  restrain  Nig's 
dripping  caresses,  his  master  looked  up,  and  saw  something  queer 
off  there,  above  the  tops  of  the  cottonwoods.  As  he  looked  he 
forgot  the  dog — forgot  everything  in  earth  or  heaven  except 
that  narrow  cloud  wavering  along  the  sky.  He  sat  immovable 
in  the  round-shouldered  attitude  learned  in  pulling  a  hand-sled 
against  a  gale  from  the  Pole.  If  you  are  moderately  excited  you 
may  start,  but  there  is  an  excitement  that  "nails  you." 

Nig  shook  his  wolf's  coat  and  sprayed  the  water  far  and 
wide,  made  little  joyful  noises,  and  licked  the  face  that  was  so 
still.  But  his  master,  like  a  man  of  stone,  stared  at  that  long 
gray  pennon  in  the  sky.  If  it  isn't  a  steamer,  what  is  it?  Like 
an  echo  out  of  some  lesson  he  had  learned  and  long  forgot,  "Up- 
bound  boats  don't  run  the  channel:  they  have  to  hunt  for  easy 
water.  "  Suddenly  he  leaped  up.  The  canoe  tipped,  and  Nig 
went  a  second  time  into  the  water.  Well  for  him  that  they  were 
near  the  shore;  he  could  jump  in  without  help  this  time.  No 
hand  held  out,  no  eye  for  him.  His  master  had  dragged  the 
painter  free,  seized  the  oars,  and,  saying  harshly,  "Lie  down, 
you  black  devil!"  he  pulled  back  against  the  current  with  every 
ounce  he  had  in  him.  For  the  gray  pennon  was  going  round  the 
other  side  of  the  island,  and  the  Boy  was  losing  the  boat  to 
Dawson. 

Nig  sat  perkily  in  the  bow,  never  budging  till  his  master,  run 
ning  into  the  head  of  the  island,  caught  up  a  handful  of  tough 
root  fringes,  and,  holding  fast  by  them,  waved  his  cap,  and 
shouted  like  one  possessed,  let  go  the  fringes,  caught  up  his  gun, 
and  fired.  Then  Nig,  realising  that  for  once  in  a  way  noise 
seemed  to  be  popular,  pointed  his  nose  at  the  big  object  hugging 
the  farther  shore,  and  howled  with  a  right  goodwill. 

"They  see!    They  see!    Hooray!" 

The  Boy  waved  his  arms,  embraced  Nig,  then  snatched  up 
the  oars.  The  steamer's  engines  were  reversed ;  now  she  was 
still.  The  Boy  pulled  lustily.  A  crowded  ship.  Crew  and 
passengers  pressed  to  the  rails.  The  steamer  canted,  and  the 
Captain's  orders  rang  out  clear.  Several  cheechalkos  laid  their 
hands  on  their  guns  as  the  wild  fellow  in  the  ragged  buckskins 

359 


THE    MAGNETIC    NORTH 

shot  round  the  motionless  wheel,  and  brought  his  canoe  'long- 
side,  while  his  savage-looking  dog  still  kept  the  echoes  of  the 
Lower  Ramparts  calling. 

"Three  cheers  for  the  Oklahoma!" 

At  the  sound  of  the  Boy's  voice  a  red  face  hanging  over  the 
stern  broke  into  a  broad  grin. 

"Be  the  Siven !  Air  ye  the  little  divvle  himself,  or  air  ye  the 
divvle's  gran'fatherr?" 

The  apparition  in  the  canoe  was  making  fast  and  preparing 
to  board  the  ship. 

"Can't  take  another  passenger.  Full  up!"  said  the  Captain. 
He  couldn't  hear  what  was  said  in  reply,  but  he  shook  his  head. 
"Been  refusin'  'em  right  along."  Then,  as  if  reproached  by  the 
look  in  the  wild  young  face,  "We  thought  you  were  in  trouble." 

"So  I  am  if  you  won't " 

"I  tell  you  we  got  every  ounce  we  can  carry." 

"Oh,  take  me  back  to  Minook,  anyway!" 

He  said  a  few  words  about  fare  to  the  Captain's  back.  As 
that  magnate  did  not  distinctly  say  "No" — indeed,  walked  off 
making  conversation  with  the  engineer — twenty  hands  helped 
the  new  passenger  to  get  Nig  and  the  canoe  on  board. 

"Well,  got  a  gold-mine?"  asked  Potts. 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Where's  the  Colonel?"  Mac  rasped  out,  with  his  square 
jaw  set  for  judgment. 

"Colonel's  all  right — at  Minook.  We've  got  a  gold-mine 
apiece." 

"Anny  gowld  in  'em?" 

"Yes,  sir,  and  no  salt,  neither." 

"Sorry  to  see  success  has  gone  to  your  head,"  drawled  Potts, 
eyeing  the  Boy's  long  hair.  "I  don't  see  any  undue  signs  of  it 
elsewhere." 

"Faith!  I  do,  thin.  He's  turned  wan  o'  thim  hungry,  grab- 
bin'  millionaires." 

"What  makes  you  think  that?"  laughed  the  Boy,  poking  his 
brown  fingers  through  the  knee-hole  of  his  breeches. 

"Arre  ye  contint  wid  that  gowld-mine  at  Minook?  No,  be 
the  Siven!  What's  wan  gowld-mine  to  a  millionaire?  What 
forr  wud  ye  be  prospectin  that  desert  oiland,  you  and  yer 
faithful  man  Froyday,  if  ye  wasn't  rooned  intoirely  be  riches?" 

The  Boy  tore  himself  away  from  his  old  friends,  and  fol 
lowed  the  arbiter  of  his  fate.  The  engines  had  started  up  again, 
and  they  were  going  on. 

360 


THE    ICE   GOES    OUT 

"I'm  told,"  said  the  Captain  rather  severely,  "that  Minook's 
a  busted  camp." 

"Oh,  if  it?"  returned  the  ragged  one  cheerfully.  Then  he 
remembered  that  this  Captain  Rainey  had  grub-staked  a  man  in 
the  autumn — a  man  who  was  reported  to  know  where  to  look 
for  the  Mother  Lode,  the  mighty  parent  of  the  Yukon  placers. 
"I  can  tell  you  the  facts  about  Minook."  He  followed  the  Cap 
tain  up  on  the  hurricane-deck,  giving  him  details  about  the  new 
strike,  and  the  wonderful  richness  of  Idaho  Bar.  "Nobody 
would  know  about  it  to-day,  but  that  the  right  man  went  pros 
pecting  there."  (One  in  the  eye  for  whoever  said  Minook  was 
"busted,"  and  another  for  the  prospector  Rainey  had  sent  to 
look  for )  "You  see,  men  like  Pitcairn  have  given  up  look- 
in'  for  the  Mother  Lode.  They  say  you  might  as  well  look  tor 
Mother  Eve;  you  got  to  make  out  with  her  descendants.  Yukon 
gold,  Pitcairn  says,  comes  from  an  older  rock  series  than  this" 
— he  stood  in  the  shower  of  sparks  constantly  spraying  from 
the  smoke-stack  to  the  fireproof  deck,  and  he  waved  his  hand 
airily  at  the  red  rock  of  the  Ramparts — "far  older  than  any  of 
these.  The  gold  up  here  has  all  come  out  o'rock  that  went  out 
o'  the  rock  business  millions  o'  years  ago.  Most  o'  that  Mother 
Lode  the  miners  are  lookin'  for  is  sand  now,  thirteen  hundred 
miles  away  in  Norton  Sound." 

"Just  my  luck,"  said  the  Captain  gloomily,  going  a  little 
for'ard,  as  though  definitely  giving  up  mining  and  returning  to 
his  own  proper  business. 

"But  the  rest  o'  the  Mother  Lode,  the  gold  and  magnetic 
iron,  was  too  heavy  to  travel.  That's  what's  linin'  the  gold 
basins  o'  the  North — linin'  Idaho  Bar  thick." 

The  Captain  sighed. 

"Twelve,"  a  voice  sang  out  on  the  lower  deck. 

"Twelve,"  repeated  the  Captain. 

"Twelve,"  echoed  the  pilot  at  the  wheel. 

"Twelve  and  a  half,"  from  the  man  below,  a  tall,  lean  fel 
low,  casting  the  sounding-pole.  With  a  rhythmic  nonchalance 
he  plants  the  long  black  and  white  staff  at  the  ship's  side,  draws 
it  up  dripping,  plunges  it  down  again,  draws  it  up,  and  sends 
it  down  hour  after  hour.  He  never  seems  to  tire;  he  never 
seems  to  see  anything  but  the  water-mark,  never  to  say  any 
thing  but  what  he  is  chanting  now,  "Twelve  and  a  half,"  or 
some  variation  merely  numerical.  You  come  to  think  him  as 
little  human  as  the  calendar,  only  that  his  numbers  are  told  off 

361 


THE    MAGNETIC    NORTH 

with  the  significance  of  sound,  the  suggested  menace  of  a  cry. 
If  the  "sounding"  comes  too  near  the  steamer's  draught,  or  the 
pilot  fails  to  hear  the  reading,  the  Captain  repeats  it.  He  often 
does  so  when  there  is  no  need ;  it  is  a  form  of  conversation,  non 
committal,  yet  smacking  of  authority. 

"Ten." 

"Ten,"  echoed  the  pilot,  while  the  Captain  was  admitting 
that  he  had  been  mining  vicariously  "for  twenty  years,  and 
never  made  a  cent.  Always  keep  thinkin'  I'll  soon  be  able  to 
give  up  steamboatin'  and  buy  a  farm." 

He  shook  his  head  as  one  who  sees  his  last  hope  fade. 

But  his  ragged  companion  turned  suddenly,  and  while  the 
sparks  fell  in  a  fresh  shower,  "Well,  Captain,"  says  he,  "you've 
got  the  chance  of  your  life  right  now." 

"Ten  and  a  half." 

"Just  what  they've  all  said.  Wish  I  had  the  money  I've 
wasted  on  grub-stakin'." 

The  ragged  one  thrust  his  hands  in  the  pockets  of  his 
chaparejos. 

"/  grub-staked  myself,   and   I'm   very   glad    I   did." 

"Nobody  in  with  you?" 

"No." 

"Nine." 

Echo,  "Nine." 

"Ten." 

"Pitcairn  says,  somehow  or  other,  there's  been  gold-washin' 
goin'  on  up  here  pretty  well  ever  since  the  world  began." 

"Indians?" 

"No;  seems  to  have  been  a  bigger  job  than  even  white  men 
could  manage.  Instead  o'  stamp-mills,  glaciers  grindin'  up  the 
Mother  Lode;  instead  o'  little  sluice-boxes,  rivers;  instead  o' 
riffles,  gravel  bottoms.  Work,  work,  wash,  wash,  day  and  night, 
every  summer  for  a  million  years.  Never  a  clean-up  since  the 
foundation  of  the  world.  No,  sir,  waitin'  for  us  to  do  that — 
waitin'  now  up  on  Idaho  Bar." 

The  Captain  looked  at  him,  trying  to  conceal  the  envy  in 
his  soul.  They  were  sounding  low  water,  but  he  never  heard. 
He  looked  round  sharply  as  the  course  changed. 

"I've  done  my  assessment,"  the  ragged  man  went  on  joyously, 
"and  I'm  going  to  Dawson." 

This  was  bad  navigation.  He  felt  instantly  he  had  struck  a 
snag.  The  Captain  smiled,  and  passed  on  sounding:  "Nine 
and  a  half." 

362 


THE    ICE   GOES    OUT 

"But  I've  got  a  fortune  on  the  Bar.  I'm  not  a  boomer,  but 
I  believe  in  the  Bar." 

"Six." 

"Six.     Gettin'  into  low  water." 

Again  the  steamer  swung  out,  hunting  a  new  channel. 

"Pitcairn's  opinion  is  thought  a  lot  of.  The  Geologic  Survey 
men  listen  to  Pitcairn.  He  helped  them  one  year.  He's  one 
of  those  extraordinary  old  miners  who  can  tell  from  the  look  of 
things,  without  even  panning.  When  he  saw  that  pyrites  on 
Idaho  Bar  he  stopped  dead.  'This  looks  good  to  me!'  he  said, 
and,  Jee-rusalem!  it  was  good!" 

They  stared  at  the  Ramparts  growing  bolder,  the  river  hurry 
ing  like  a  mill-race,  the  steamer  feeling  its  way  slow  and  cau 
tiously  like  a  blind  man  with  a  stick. 

"Seven." 

"Seven." 

"Seven." 

"Six  and  a  half." 

"Pitcairn  says  gold  is  always  thickest  on  the  inside  of  an  el 
bow  or  turn  in  the  stream.  It's  in  a  place  like  that  my  claim  is." 

The  steamer  swerved  still  further  out  from  the  course  indi 
cated  on  the  chart.  The  pilot  was  still  hunting  a  new  channel, 
but  still  the  Captain  stood  and  listened,  and  it  was  not  to  the 
sounding  of  the  Yukon  Bar. 

"They  say  there's  no  doubt  about  the  whole  country  being 
glaciated." 

"Hey?" 

"Signs  of  glacial  erosion  everywhere." 

The  Captain  looked  sharply  about  as  if  his  ship  might  be  in 
some  new  danger. 

"No  doubt  the  gold  is  all  concentrates." 

"Oh,  is  that  so?"     He  seemed  relieved  on  the  whole. 

"Eight  and  a  half,"  from  below. 

"Eight  and  a  half,"  from  the  Captain. 

"Eight  and  a  half,"  from  the  pilot-house. 

"Concentrates,  eh?" 

Something  arresting,  rich-sounding,  in  the  news — a  triple  es 
sence  of  the  perfume  of  riches. 

With  the  incantation  of  technical  phrase  over  the  witch-brew 
of  adventure,  gambling,  and  romance,  that  simmers  in  the  mind 
when  men  tell  of  finding  gold  in  the  ground,  with  the  addition 
of  this  salt  of  science  comes  a  savour  of  homely  virtue,  an  aroma 

363 


THE    MAGNETIC    NORTH 

promising  sustenance  and  strength.  It  confounds  suspicion  and 
sees  unbelief,  first  weaken,  and  at  last  do  reverence.  There  is 
something  hypnotic  in  the  terminology.  Enthusiasm,  even 
backed  by  fact,  will  scare  off  your  practical  man,  who  yet  will 
turn  to  listen  to  the  theory  of  "the  mechanics  of  erosion"  and 
one  of  its  proofs — "up  there  before  our  eyes,  the  striation  of  the 
Ramparts." 

But  Rainey  was  what  he  called  "an  old  bird."  His  squinted 
pilot-eye  came  back  from  the  glacier  track  and  fell  on  the  out 
landish  figure  of  his  passenger.  And  with  an  inward  admira 
tion  of  his  quality  of  extreme  old-birdness,  the  Captain  struggled 
against  the  trance. 

"Didn't  I  hear  you  say  something  about  going  to  Dawson?" 

"Y-yes.     I  think  Dawson  '11  be  worth  seeing." 

"Holy  Moses,  yes!  There's  never  been  anything  like  Daw- 
son  before." 

"And  I  want  to  talk  to  the  big  business  men  there.  I'm  not 
a  miner  myself.  I  mean  to  put  my  property  on  the  market." 
As  he  said  the  words  it  occurred  to  him  unpleasantly  how  very 
like  McGinty  they  sounded.  But  he  went  on :  "I  didn't  dream 
of  spending  so  much  time  up  here  as  I've  put  in  already.  I've 
got  to  get  back  to  the  States." 

"You  had  any  proposition  yet?"  The  Captain  led  the  way  to 
his  private  room. 

"About  my  claim?  Not  yet;  but  once  I  get  it  on  the 
market " 

So  full  was  he  of  a  scheme  of  his  own  he  failed  to  see  that 
he  had  no  need  to  go  to  Dawson  for  a  buyer. 

The  Captain  set  out  drinks,  and  still  the  talk  was  of  the 
Bar.  It  had  come  now  to  seem  impossible,  even  to  an  old  bird, 
that,  given  those  exact  conditions,  gold  should  not  be  gathered 
thick  along  that  Bar. 

"I  regard  it  as  a  sure  thing.  Anyhow,  it's  recorded,  and  the 
assessment's  done.  All  the  district  wants  now  is  capital  to 
develop  it." 

"Districts  like  that  all  over  the  map,"  said  the  old  bird,  with 
a  final  flutter  of  caution.  "Even  if  the  capital's  found — if 
everything's  ready  for  work,  the  summer's  damn  short.  But  if 
it's  a  question  of  goin'  huntin'  for  the  means  of  workin' " 

"There's  time,"  returned  the  other  quietly,  "but  there's  none 
to  waste.  You  take  me  and  my  pardner " 

"Thought  you  didn't  have  a  pardner,"  snapped  the  other, 
hot  over  such  duplicity. 

364 


THE    ICE   GOES    OUT 

"Not  in  ownership ;  he's  got  another  claim.  But  you  take  my 
pardner  and  me  to  Dawson " 

The  Captain  stood  on  his  legs  and  roared: 

"I  cant,  I  tell  you!" 

"You  can  if  you  will — you  will  if  you  want  that  farm!" 

Rainey  gaped. 

"Take  us  to  Dawson,  and  I'll  get  a  deed  drawn  up  in 
Minook  turning  over  one-third  of  my  Idaho  Bar  property  to 
John  R.  Rainey." 

John  R.  Rainey  gaped  the  more,  and  then  finding  his 
tongue : 

"No,  no.  I'd  just  as  soon  come  in  on  the  Bar,  but  it's  true 
what  I'm  tellin'  you.  There  simply  ain't  an  unoccupied  inch 
on  the  Oklahoma  this  trip.  It's  been  somethin'  awful,  the  way 
I've  been  waylaid  and  prayed  at  for  a  passage.  People  starvin' 
with  bags  o'  money  waitin'  for  'em  at  the  Dawson  Bank !  Set 
tlements  under  water — men  up  in  trees  callin'  to  us  to  stop  for 
the  love  of  God — men  in  boats  crossin'  our  channel,  headin'  us 
off,  thinkin'  nothin'  o'  the  risk  o'  bein'  run  down.  'Take  us  to 
Dawson!'  it's  the  cry  for  fifteen  hundred  miles." 

"Oh,  come!  you  stopped  for  me." 

The  Captain  smiled  shrewdly. 

"I  didn't  think  it  necessary  at  the  time  to  explain.  We'd 
struck  bottom  just  then — new  channel,  you  know;  it  changes  a 
lot  every  time  the  ice  goes  out  and  the  floods  come  down.  I 
reversed  our  engines  and  went  up  to  talk  to  the  pilot.  We 
backed  off  just  after  you  boarded  us.  I  must  have  been  rattled 
to  take  you  even  to  Minook." 

"No.  It  was  the  best  turn  you've  done  yourself  in  a  long 
while." 

The  Captain  shook  his  head.  It  was  true:  the  passengers  of 
the  Oklahoma  were  crowded  like  cattle  on  a  Kansas  stock-car. 
He  knew  he  ought  to  unload  and  let  a  good  portion  wait  at 
Minook  for  that  unknown  quantity  the  next  boat.  He  would 
issue  ^the  order,  but  that  he  knew  it  would  mean  a  mutiny. 

"I'll  get  into  trouble  for  overloading  as  it  is." 

"You  probably  won't;  people  are  too  busy  up  here.  If  you 
do,  I'm  offerin'  you  a  good  many  thousand  dollars  for  the  risk." 

"God  bless  my  soul!  where'd  I  put  you?  There  ain't  a 
bunk." 

"I've  slept  by  the  week  on  the  ice." 

"There  ain't  room  to  lie  down." 

365 


THE    MAGNETIC    NORTH 

"Then  we'll  stand  up." 

Lord,  Lord!  what  could  you  do  with  such  a  man?  Owner 
of  Idaho  Bar,  too.  "Mechanics  of  erosion,"  "Concentrates," 
"a  third  interest" — it  all  rang  in  his  head.  "I've  got  nine  fel 
lers  sleepin'  in  here,"  he  said  helplessly,  "in  my  room." 

"Can  we  come  if  we  find  our  own  place,  and  don't  trouble 
you?" 

"Well,  I  won't  have  any  pardner — but  perhaps  you " 

"Oh,  pardner's  got  to  come  too." 

Whatever  the  Captain  said  the  nerve-tearing  shriek  of  the 
whistle  drowned.  It  was  promptly  replied  to  by  the  most  hor 
rible  howls. 

"Reckon  that's  Nig!  He's  got  to  come  too,"  said  this  dread 
ful  ragged  man. 

"God  bless  me,  this  must  be  Minook!" 

The  harassed  Captain  hustled  out. 

"You  must  wait  long  enough  here  to  get  that  deed  drawn, 
Captain!"  called  out  the  other,  as  he  flew  down  the  compan- 
ionway. 

Nearly  six  hundred  people  on  the  bank.  Suddenly  control 
ling  his  eagerness,  the  Boy  contented  himself  with  standing  back 
and  staring  across  strange  shoulders  at  the  place  he  knew  so 
well.  There  was  "the  worst-lookin'  shack  in  the  town,"  that 
had  been  his  home,  the  A.  C.  store  looming  importantly,  the 
Gold  Nugget,  and  hardly  a  face  to  which  he  could  not  give  a 
name  and  a  history:  Windy  Jim  and  the  crippled  Swede;  Bon- 
sor,  cheek  by  jowl  with  his  enemy,  McGinty;  Judge  Corey 
spitting  straight  and  far;  the  gorgeous  bartender,  all  checks 
and  diamonds,  in  front  of  a  pitiful  group  of  the  scurvy-stricken 
(thirty  of  them  in  the  town  waiting  for  rescue  by  the  steamer)  ; 
Butts,  quite  bland,  under  the  crooked  cottonwood,  with  never 
a  thought  of  how  near  he  had  come,  on  that  very  spot,  to 
missing  the  first  boat  of  the  year,  and  all  the  boats  of  all  the 
years  to  follow. 

Maudie,  Keith  and  the  Colonel  stood  with  the  A.  C.  agent 
at  the  end  of  the  baggage-bordered  plank-walk  that  led  to  the 
landing.  Behind  them,  at  least  four  hundred  people  packed 
and  waiting  with  their  possessions  at  their  feet,  ready  to  be  put 
aboard  the  instant  the  Oklahoma  made  fast.  The  Captain  had 
called  out  "Howdy"  to  the  A.  C.  Agent,  and  several  greetings 
were  shouted  back  and  forth.  Maudie  mounted  a  huge  pile  of 
baggage  and  sat  there  as  on  a  throne,  the  Colonel  and  Keith 

366 


THE   ICE   GOES   OUT 

perching  on  a  heap  of  gunny-sacks  at  her  feet.  That  woman 
almost  the  only  person  in  sight  who  did  not  expect,  by  means 
of  the  Oklahoma,  to  leave  misery  behind!  The  Boy  stood 
thinking  "How  will  they  bear  it  when  they  know?" 

The  Oklahoma  was  late,  but  she  was  not  only  the  first  boat 
— she  might  conceivably  be  the  last. 

Potts  and  O'Flynn  had  spotted  the  man  they  were  looking 
for,  and  called  out  "Hello!  Hello!"  as  the  big  fellow  on  the 
pile  of  gunnies  got  up  and  waved  his  hat. 

Mac  leaned  over  the  rail,  saying  gruffly,  "That  you,  Colo 
nel?"  trying,  as  the  Boss  of  the  Big  Chimney  saw — "tryin'  his 
darndest  not  to  look  pleased,"  and  all  the  while  O'Flynn  was 
waving  his  hat  and  howling  with  excitement: 

"How's  the  gowld?     How's  yersilf  ?" 

The  gangway  began  its  slow  swing  round  preparatory  to 
lowering  into  place.  The  mob  on  shore  caught  up  boxes,  bun 
dles,  bags,  and  pressed  forward. 

"No,  no!     Stand  back!"  ordered  the  Captain. 

"Take  your  time!"  said  people  trembling  with  excitement. 
"There's  no  rush." 

"There's  no  room!"  called  out  the  purser  to  a  friend. 

'Wo  room?"  went  from  mouth  to  mouth,  incredulous  that 
the  information  could  concern  the  speaker.  He  was  only  one. 
There  was  certainly  room  for  him;  and  every  man  pushed  the 
harder  to  be  the  sole  exception  to  the  dreadful  verdict. 

"Stand  back  there!  Can't  take  even  a  pound  of  freight. 
Loaded  to  the  guards!" 

A  whirlwind  of  protest  and  appeal  died  away  in  curses. 
Women  wept,  and  sick  men  turned  away  their  faces.  The 
dogs  still  howled,  for  nothing  is  so  lacerating  to  the  feelings  of 
your  Siwash  as  a  steam-whistle  blast.  The  memory  of  it 
troubles  him  long  after  the  echo  of  it  dies.  Suddenly  above 
the  din  Maudie's  shrill  voice: 

"I  thought  that  was  Nig!" 

Before  the  gangway  had  dropped  with  a  bang  her  sharp  eyes 
had  picked  out  the  Boy. 

"Well  I'll  be See  who  that  is  behind  Nig?    Trust  him 

to  get  in  on  the  ground-floor.  He  ain't  worryin'  for  fear  his 
pardner  '11  lose  the  boat,"  she  called  to  the  Colonel,  who  was 
pressing  forward  as  Rainey  came  down  the  gangway. 

"How  do  you  do,  Captain?" 

The  man  addressed  never  turned  his  head.  He  was  forcing 
his  way  through  the  jam  up  to  the  A.  C.  Store. 

367 


THE    MAGNETIC    NORTH 


"You  may  recall  me,  sah;  I  am- 


"If  you  are  a  man  wantin'  to  go  to  Dawson,  it  doesn't  mat 
ter  who  you  are.  I  can't  take  you." 

"But,  sah "     It  was  no  use. 

A  dozen  more  were  pushing  their  claims,  every  one  in  vain. 
The  Oklahoma  passengers,  bent  on  having  a  look  at  Minook, 
crowded  after  the  Captain.  Among  those  who  first  left  the 
ship,  the  Boy,  talking  to  the  purser,  hard  upon  Rainey's  heels. 
The  Colonel  stood  there  as  they  passed,  the  Captain  turning 
back  to  say  something  to  the  Boy,  and  then  they  disappeared 
together  through  the  door  of  the  A.  C. 

Never  a  word  for  his  pardner,  not  so  much  as  a  look.  Bit 
terness  fell  upon  the  Colonel's  heart.  Maudie  called  to  him, 
and  he  went  back  to  his  seat  on  the  gunny-sacks. 

"He's  in  with  the  Captain  now,"  she  said;  "he's  got  no  more 
use  for  us." 

But  there  was  less  disgust  than  triumph  in  her  face. 

O'Flynn  was  walking  over  people  in  his  frantic  haste  to 
reach  the  Colonel.  Before  he  could  accomplish  his  design  he 
had  three  separate  quarrels  on  his  hands,  and  was  threatening 
with  fury  to  "settle  the  hash"  of  several  of  his  dearest  new 
friends. 

Potts  meanwhile  was  shaking  the  Big  Chimney  boss  by  the 
hand  and  saying,  "Awfully  sorry  we  can't  take  you  on  with 
us;"  adding  lower:  "We  had  a  mighty  mean  time  after  you 
lit  out." 

Then  Mac  thrust  his  hand  in  between  the  two,  and  gave  the 
Colonel  a  monkey-wrench  grip  that  made  the  Kentuckian's 
eyes  water. 

"Kaviak?    Well,  I'll  tell  you." 

He  shouldered  Potts  out  of  his  way,  and  while  the  talk 
and  movement  went  on  all  round  Maudie's  throne,  Mac,  ignor 
ing  her,  set  forth  grimly  how,  after  an  awful  row  with  Potts, 
he  had  adventured  with  Kaviak  to  Holy  Cross.  "An  awful 
row,  indeed,"  thought  the  Colonel,  "to  bring  Mac  to  that;" 
but  the  circumstances  had  little  interest  for  him,  beside  the  fact 
that  his  pardner  would  be  off  to  Dawson  in  a  few  minutes, 
leaving  him  behind  and  caring  "not  a  sou  markee." 

Mac  was  still  at  Holy  Cross.  He  had  seen  a  woman  there — 
"calls  herself  a  nun — evidently  swallows  those  priests  whole. 
Kind  of  mad,  believes  it  all.  Except  for  that,  good  sort  of  girl. 
The  kind  to  keep  her  word" — and  she  had  promised  to  look 

368 


THE    ICE    GOES    OUT 

after  Kaviak,  and  never  let  him  away  from  her  till  Mac  came 
back  to  fetch  him. 

"Fetch  him?" 

"Fetch  him!" 

"Fetch  him  where?" 

"Home!" 

"When  will  that  be?" 

"Just  as  soon  as  I've  put  through  the  job  up  yonder."  He 
jerked  his  head  up  the  river,  indicating  the  common  goal. 

And  now  O'Flynn,  roaring  as  usual,  had  broken  away  from 
those  who  had  obstructed  his  progress,  and  had  flung  himself 
upon  the  Colonel.  When  the  excitement  had  calmed  down  a 
little,  "Well,"  said  the  Colonel  to  the  three  ranged  in  front  of 
him,  Maudie  looking  on  from  above,  "what  you  been  doin'  all 
these  three  months?" 

"Doin'?" 

"Well— a " 

"Oh,  we  done  a  lot." 

They  looked  at  one  another  out  of  the  corners  of  their  eyes 
and  then  they  looked  away. 

"Since  the  birds  came,"  began  Mac  in  the  tone  of  one  who 
wishes  to  let  bygones  be  bygones. 

"Och,  yes;  them  burruds  was  foine!" 

Potts  pulled  something  out  of  his  trousers  pocket — a  strange 
collapsed  object.  He  took  another  of  the  same  description  out 
of  another  pocket.  Mac's  hands  and  O'Flynn's  performed  the 
same  action.  Each  man  seemed  to  have  his  pockets  full  of 
these 

"What  are  they?" 

"Money-bags,  me  bhoy!  Made  out  o'  the  fut  o'  the  'Lasky 
swan,  God  bless  'em!  Mac  cahls  'em  some  haythen  name,  but 
everybuddy  else  cahls  'em  illegant  money-bags!" 


In  less  than  twenty  minutes  the  steamer  whistle  shrieked. 
Nig  bounded  out  of  the  A.  C.,  frantic  at  the  repetition  of  the 
insult;  other  dogs  took  the  quarrel  up,  and  the  Ramparts  rang. 

The  Boy  followed  the  Captain  out  of  the  A.  C.  store.  All 
the  motley  crew  that  had  swarmed  off  to  inspect  Minook, 
swarmed  back  upon  the  Oklahoma.  The  Boy  left  the  Captain 
this  time,  and  came  briskly  over  to  his  friends,  who  were  taking 
leave  of  the  Colonel. 

369 


THE   MAGNETIC    NORTH 

"So  you're  all  goin'  on  but  me!"  said  the  Colonel  very  sadly. 

The  Colonel's  pardner  stopped  short,  and  looked  at  the  pile 
of  baggage. 

"Got  your  stuff  all  ready!"  he  said. 

"Yes."  The  answer  was  not  free  from  bitterness.  "I'll  have 
the  pleasure  of  packin'  it  back  to  the  shack  after  you're  gone." 

"So  you  were  all  ready  to  go  off  and  leave  me,"  said  the  Boy. 

The  Colonel  could  not  stoop  to  the  obvious  retort.  His 
pardner  came  round  the  pile  and  his  eyes  fell  on  their  common 
sleeping-bag,  the  two  Nulato  rifles,  and  other  "traps,"  that 
meant  more  to  him  than  any  objects  inanimate  in  all  the  world. 

"What?  you  were  goin'  to  carry  off  my  things  too?"  ex 
claimed  the  Boy. 

"That's  all  you  get,"  Maudie  burst  out  indignantly — "all 
you  get  for  packin'  his  stuff  down  to  the  landin',  to  have  it  all 
ready  for  him,  and  worryin'  yourself  into  shoe-strings  for  fear 
he'd  miss  the  boat." 

Mac,  O'Flynn,  and  Potts  condoled  with  the  Colonel,  while 
the  fire  of  the  old  feud  flamed  and  died. 

"Yes,"  the  Colonel  admitted,  "I'd  give  five  hundred  dollars 
for  a  ticket  on  that  steamer." 

He  looked  in  each  of  the  three  faces,  and  knew  the  vague 
hope  behind  his  words  was  vain.  But  the  Boy  had  only 
laughed,  and  caught  up  the  baggage  as  the  last  whistle  set  the 
Rampart  echoes  flying,  piping,  like  a  lot  of  frightened  birds. 

"Come  along,  then." 

"Look  here!"  the  Colonel  burst  out.     "That's  my  stuff." 

"It's  all  the  same.  You  bring  mine.  I've  got  the  tickets. 
You  and  me  and  Nig's  goin'  to  the  Klondyke." 


370 


CHAPTER   XX 

THE    KLONDYKE 

"  Poverty  is  an  odious  calling." 

BURTON'S  Anatomy  of  Melancholy. 

ON  Monday  morning,  the  6th  of  June,  they  crossed  the 
British  line;  but  it  was  not  till  Wednesday,  the  8th,  at 
four  in  the  afternoon,  just  ten  months  after  leaving  San 
Francisco,  that  the  Oklahoma's  passengers  saw  between  the  vol 
canic  hills  on  the  right  bank  of  the  Yukon  a  stretch  of  boggy 
tundra,  whereon  hundreds  of  tents  gleamed,  pink  and  saffron. 
Just  beyond  the  bold  wooded  height,  wearing  the  deep  scar  of  a 
landslide  on  its  breast,  just  round  that  bend,  the  Klondyke 
river  joins  the  Yukon — for  this  is  Dawson,  headquarters  of  the 
richest  Placer  Diggings  the  world  has  seen,  yet  wearing  more 
the  air  of  a  great  army  encampment. 

For  two  miles  the  river-bank  shines  with  sunlit  canvas — 
tents,  tents  everywhere,  as  far  as  eye  can  see,  a  mushroom 
growth  masking  the  older  cabins.  The  water-front  swarms 
with  craft,  scows  and  canoes,  birch,  canvas,  peterboro ;  the  great 
bateaux  of  the  northern  lumberman,  neat  little  skiffs,  clumsy 
rafts;  heavy  "double-enders,"  whip-sawed  from  green  timber, 
with  capacity  of  two  to  five  tons;  lighters  and  barges  carrying 
as  much  as  forty  tons — all  having  come  through  the  perils  of 
the  upper  lakes  and  shot  the  canon  rapids. 

As  the  Oklahoma  steams  nearer,  the  town  blossoms  into 
flags;  a  great  murmur  increases  to  a  clamour;  people  come 
swarming  down  to  the  water-front,  waving  Union  Jacks  and 

Stars  and  Stripes  as  well What  does  it  all  mean?  A 

cannon  booms,  guns  are  fired,  and  as  the  Oklahoma  swings  into 
the  bank  a  band  begins  to  play;  a  cheer  goes  up  from  fifteen 
thousand  throats:  "Hurrah  for  the  first  steamer!" 

The  Oklahoma  has  opened  the  Klondyke  season  of  1898! 

They  got  their  effects  off  the  boat,  and  pitched  the  old  tent 
up  on  the  Moosehide;  then  followed  days  full  to  overflowing, 
breathless,  fevered,  yet  without  result  beyond  a  general  string- 

371 


THE   MAGNETIC   NORTH 

ing  up  of  nerves.  The  special  spell  of  Dawson  was  upon  them 
all — the  surface  aliveness,  the  inner  deadness,  the  sense  of  being 
cut  off  from  all  the  rest  of  the  world,  as  isolated  as  a  man  is  in 
a  dream,  with  no  past,  no  future,  only  a  fantastic,  intensely 
vivid  Now.  This  was  the  summer  climate  of  the  Klondyke. 

The  Colonel,  the  Boy,  and  Captain  Rainey  maintained  the 
illusion  of  prosecuting  their  affairs  by  frequenting  the  offices, 
stores,  and  particularly  saloons,  where  buyers  and  sellers  most 
did  congregate.  Frequent  mention  was  made  of  a  certain  valu 
able  piece  of  property. 

Where  was  it? 

"Down  yonder  at  Minook;"  and  then  nobody  cared  a  straw. 

It  was  true  there  was  widespread  dissatisfaction  with  the 
Klondyke.  Everyone  agreed  it  had  been  overdone.  It  would 
support  one-quarter  of  the  people  already  here,  and  tens  of 
thousands  on  their  way!  "Say  Klondyke,  and  instantly  your 
soberest  man  goes  mad ;  say  anything  else,  and  he  goes  deaf." 

Minook  was  a  good  camp,  but  it  had  the  disadvantage  of 
lying  outside  the  magic  district.  The  madness  would,  of  course, 
not  last,  but  meanwhile  the  time  went  by,  and  the  people  poured 
in  day  and  night.  Six  great  steamers  full  came  up  from  the 
Lower  River,  and  still  the  small  craft  kept  on  flocking  like 
coveys  of  sea-fowl  through  the  Upper  Lakes,  each  party  saying, 
"The  crowd  is  behind." 

On  the  1 4th  of  June  a  toy  whistle  sounded  shrill  above  the 
town,  and  in  puffed  a  Liliputian  "steel-hull"  steamer  that  had 
actually  come  "on  her  own"  through  the  canon  and  shot  the 
White  Horse  Rapids.  A  steamer  from  the  Upper  River!  after 
that,  others.  Two  were  wrecked,  but  who  minded  ?  And  still 
the  people  pouring  in,  and  still  that  cry,  "The  crowd's  be 
hind!"  and  still  the  clamour  for  quicker,  ampler  means  of  trans 
port  to  the  North,  no  matter  what  it  cost.  The  one  considera 
tion  "to  get  there,"  and  to  get  there  "quickly,"  brought  most 
of  the  horde  by  the  Canadian  route;  yet,  as  against  the  two 
ocean  steamers — all-sufficient  the  year  before  to  meet  the  five 
river  boats  at  St.  Michael's — now,  by  the  Ail-American  route 
alone,  twenty  ocean  steamers  and  forty-seven  river  boats,  double- 
deckers,  some  two  hundred  and  twenty-five  feet  long,  and  every 
one  crowded  to  the  guards  with  people  coming  to  the  Klondyke. 

Meanwhile,  many  of  those  already  there  were  wondering 
why  they  came  and  how  they  could  get  home.  In  the  tons  of 
"  mail  matter"  for  Dawson,  stranded  at  Skaguay,  must  be  those 

372 


THE    KLONDYKE 

"instructions"  from  the  Colonel's  bank,  at  home,  to  the  Cana 
dian  Bank  of  Commerce,  Dawson  City.  He  agreed  with  the 
Boy  that  if — very  soon  now — they  had  not  disposed  of  the 
Minook  property,  they  would  go  to  the  mines. 

"What's  the  good?"  rasped  Mac.  "Every  foot  staked  for 
seventy  miles." 

"For  my  part,"  admitted  the  Boy,  "I'm  less  grand  than  I 
was.  I  meant  to  make  some  poor  devil  dig  out  my  Minook 
gold  for  me.  It'll  be  the  other  way  about:  I'll  dig  gold  for 
any  man  on  Bonanza  that'll  pay  me  wages." 

They  sat  slapping  at  the  mosquitoes  till  a  whistle  screamed 
on  the  Lower  River.  The  Boy  called  to  Nig,  and  went  down 
to  the  town  to  hear  the  news.  By-and-by  Mac  came  out  with 
a  pack,  and  said  he'd  be  back  in  a  day  or  two.  After  he  had 
disappeared  among  the  tents — a  conquering  army  that  had 
forced  its  way  far  up  the  hill  by  now — the  Colonel  got  up  and 
went  to  the  spring  for  a  drink.  He  stood  there  a  long  time 
looking  out  wistfully,  not  towards  the  common  magnet  across 
the  Klondyke,  but  quite  in  the  other  direction  towards  the 
nearer  gate  of  exit — towards  home. 

"What  special  brand  of  fool  am  I  to  be  here?" 

Down  below,  Nig,  with  hot  tongue  hanging  out  of  the  side 
of  his  mouth,  now  followed,  now  led,  his  master,  coming  briskly 
up  the  slope. 

"That  was  the  Weare  we  heard  whistlin',"  said  the  Boy, 
breathless.  "And  who  d'you  think's  aboard?" 

"Who?" 

"Nicholas  o'  Pymeut,  pilot.  An'  he's  got  Princess  Muck- 
luck  along." 

"No,"  laughed  the  Colonel,  following  the  Boy  to  the  tent. 
"What's  the  Princess  come  for?" 

"How  should  I  know?" 

"Didn't  she  say?" 

"Didn't  stop  to  hear." 

"Reckon  she  was  right  glad  to  see  you,"  chaffed  the  Colonel. 
"Hey?  Wasn't  she?" 

"I — don't  think  she  noticed  I  was  there." 

"What !  you  bolted  ?"  No  reply.  "See  here,  what  you 
doin'?" 

"Packin'  up." 

I'Where  you  goin'?" 

"Been  thinkin'  for  some  time  I  ain't  wealthy  enough  to  live 

373 


THE   MAGNETIC   NORTH 

in  this  metropolis.    There  may  be  a  place  for  a  poor  man,  but 
Dawson  isn't  It." 

"Well,  I  didn't  think  you  were  that  much  of  a  coward — 

turnin'  tail  like  this  just  because  a  poor  little  Esquimaux 

Besides,  she  may  have  got  over  it.     Even  the  higher  races  do." 
And  he  went  on  poking  his  fun  till  suddenly  the  Boy  said : 

"You're  in  such  high  spirits,  I  suppose  you  must  have  heard 
Maudie's  up  from  Minook." 

"You're  jokin'!" 

"It  ain't  my  idea  of  a  joke.  She's  comin'  up  here  soon  's 
she's  landed  her  stuff." 

"She's  not  comin'  up  here!" 

"Why  not?  Anybody  can  come  up  on  the  Moosehide,  and 
everybody's  doin'  it.  I'm  goin'  to  make  way  for  some  of  'em." 

"Did  she  see  you?" 

"Well,  she's  seen  Potts,  anyhow." 

"You're  right  about  Dawson,"  said  the  Colonel  suddenly; 
"it's  too  rich  for  my  blood." 

They  pinned  a  piece  of  paper  on  the  tent-flap  to  say  they 
were  "Gone  prospecting:  future  movements  uncertain." 

Each  with  a  small  pack,  and  sticking  out  above  it  the  Klon- 
dyke  shovel  that  had  come  all  the  way  from  San  Francisco, 
Nig  behind  with  provisions  in  his  little  saddle-bags,  and  tongue 
farther  out  than  ever,  they  turned  their  backs  on  Dawson, 
crossed  the  lower  corner  of  Lot  6,  behind  the  Government  Re 
serve,  stared  with  fresh  surprise  at  the  young  market-garden 
flourishing  there,  down  to  the  many-islanded  Klondyke,  across 
in  the  scow-ferry,  over  the  Corduroy,  that  cheers  and  deceives 
the  new-comer  for  that  first  mile  of  the  Bonanza  Trail,  on 
through  pool  and  morass  to  the  thicket  of  white  birches,  where 
the  Colonel  thought  it  well  to  rest  awhile. 

"Yes,  he  felt  the  heat,"  he  said,  as  he  passed  the  time  of  day 
with  other  men  going  by  with  packs,  pack-horses,  or  draught- 
dogs,  cursing  at  the  trail  and  at  the  Government  that  taxed 
the  miners  so  cruelly  and  then  did  nothing  for  them,  not  even 
making  a  decent  highway  to  the  Dominion's  source  of  revenue. 
But  out  of  the  direct  rays  of  the  sun  the  traveller  found  re 
freshment,  and  the  mosquitoes  were  blown  away  by  the  keen 
breeze  that  seemed  to  come  from  off  some  glacier.  And  the 
birds  sang  loud,  and  the  wild-flowers  starred  the  birch-grove, 
and  the  briar-roses  wove  a  tangle  on  either  side  the  swampy 
trail. 

374 


THE    KLONDYKE 

On  again,  dipping  to  a  little  valley — Bonanza  Creek!  They 
stood  and  looked. 

"Well,  here  we  are." 

"Yes,  this  is  what  we  came  for." 

And  it  was  because  of  "this"  that  so  vast  a  machinery  of 
ships,  engines,  and  complicated  human  lives  had  been  set  in 
motion.  What  was  it?  A  dip  in  the  hills  where  a  little  stream 
was  caught  up  into  sluices.  On  either  side  of  every  line  of 
boxes,  heaps  and  windrows  of  gravel.  Above,  high  on  log-cabin 
staging,  windlasses.  Stretching  away  on  either  side,  gentle 
slopes,  mossed  and  flower  starred.  Here  and  there  upon  this 
ancient  moose  pasture,  tents  and  cabins  set  at  random.  In  the 
bed  of  the  creek,  up  and  down  in  every  direction,  squads  of 
men  sweating  in  the  sun — here,  where  for  untold  centuries 
herds  of  leisurely  and  majestic  moose  had  come  to  quench  their 
thirst.  In  the  older  cabins  their  horns  still  lorded  it.  Their 
bones  were  bleaching  in  the  fire-weed. 

On  from  claim  to  claim  the  new-comers  to  these  rich  pastures 
went,  till  they  came  to  the  junction  of  the  El  Dorado,  where 
huddles  the  haphazard  settlement  of  the  Grand  Forks,  only 
twelve  miles  from  Dawson.  And  now  they  were  at  the  heart 
of  "the  richest  Placer  Mining  District  the  world  has  seen." 
But  they  knew  well  enough  that  every  inch  was  owned,  and 
that  the  best  they  could  look  for  was  work  as  unskilled  labour 
ers,  day  shift  or  night,  on  the  claims  of  luckier  men. 

They  had  brought  a  letter  from  Ryan,  of  the  North-West 
Mounted  Police,  to  the  Superintendent  of  No.  o,  Above  Dis 
covery,  a  claim  a  little  this  side  of  the  Forks.  Ryan  had  warned 
them  to  keep  out  of  the  way  of  the  part-owner,  Scoville  Austin, 
a  surly  person  naturally,  so  exasperated  at  the  tax,  and  so  en 
raged  at  the  rumour  of  Government  spies  masquerading  as 
workmen,  checking  his  reports,  that  he  was  "a  first-rate  man  to 
avoid."  But  Seymour,  the  Superintendent,  was,  in  the  words 
of  the  soothing  motto  of  the  whole  American  people,  "All 
right." 

They  left  their  packs  just  inside  the  door  of  the  log-cabin, 
indicated  as  "Bunk  House  for  the  men  on  No.  o,  Above" — a 
fearsome  place,  where,  on  shelf  above  shelf,  among  long  un 
washed  bedclothes,  the  unwashed  workmen  of  a  prosperous 
company  lay  in  the  stupor  of  sore  fatigue  and  semi-asphyxiation. 
Someone  stirred  as  the  door  opened,  and  out  of  the  fcetid  dusk 
of  the  unventilated,  closely-shuttered  cabin  came  a  voice: 

375 


THE    MAGNETIC    NORTH 

P 

"Night  shift  on?" 

"No." 

"Then,  damn  you!  shut  the  door." 

As  the  never-resting  sun  "forced"  the  Dawson  market-garden 
and  the  wild-roses  of  the  trail,  so  here  on  the  creek  men  must 
follow  the  strenuous  example.  No  pause  in  the  growing  or  the 
toiling  of  this  Northern  world.  The  day-gang  on  No.  o  was 
hard  at  it  down  there  where  lengthwise  in  the  channel  was 
propped  a  line  of  sluice-boxes,  steadied  by  regularly  spaced 
poles  laid  from  box  to  bank  on  gravel  ridge.  Looking  down 
from  above,  the  whole  was  like  a  huge  fish-bone  lying  along 
the  bed  of  the  creek.  A  little  group  of  men  with  picks,  shovels, 
and  wheelbarrows  were  reducing  the  "dump"  of  winter  pay, 
piled  beside  a  windlass,  conveying  it  to  the  sluices.  Other  men 
in  line,  four  or  five  feet  below  the  level  of  the  boxes,  were 
"stripping,"  picking,  and  shovelling  the  gravel  off  the  bed 
rock — no  easy  business,  for  even  this  summer  temperature 
thawed  but  a  few  inches  a  day,  and  below,  the  frost  of  ten 
thousand  years  cemented  the  rubble  into  iron. 

"Where  is  the  Superintendent?" 

"That's  Seymour  in  the  straw  hat." 

It  was  felt  that  even  the  broken  and  dilapidated  article 
mentioned  was  a  distinction  and  a  luxury. 

Yes,  it  was  too  hot  up  here  in  the  Klondyke. 

They  made  their  way  to  the  man  in  authority,  a  dark,  quiet- 
mannered  person,  with  big,  gentle  eyes,  not  the  sort  of  Super 
intendent  they  had  expected  to  find  representing  such  a  man  as 
the  owner  of  No.  o. 

Having  read  Ryan's  letter  and  slowly  scanned  the  appln 
cants:  "What  do  you  know  about  it?"  He  nodded  at  the 
sluice. 

"All  of  nothing,"  said  the  Boy. 

"Does  it  call  for  any  particular  knowing?"  asked  the 
Colonel. 

"Calls  for  muscle  and  plenty  of  keep-at-it."  His  voice  was 
soft,  but  as  the  Colonel  looked  at  him  he  realized  why  a  hard 
fellow  like  Scoville  Austin  had  made  this  Southerner  Superin 
tendent. 

"Better  just  try  us." 

"I  can  use  one  more  man  on  the  night  shift,  a  dollar  and  a 
half  an  hour." 

"All  right,"  said  the  Boy. 

376 


THE    KLONDYKE 

The  Colonel  looked  at  him.     "Is  this  job  yours  or  mine?" 

The  Superintendent  had  gone  up  towards  the  dam. 

"Whichever  you  say." 

The  Boy  did  not  like  to  suggest  that  the  Colonel  seemed 
little  fit  for  this  kind  of  exercise.  They  had  been  in  the  Klon- 
dyke  long  enough  to  know  that  to  be  in  wrork  was  to  be  in 
luck. 

"I'll  tell  you,"  the  younger  man  said  quickly,  answering 
something  unspoken,  but  plain  in  the  Colonel's  face;  "I'll  go 
up  the  gulch  and  see  what  else  there  is." 

It  crossed  his  mind  that  there  might  be  something  less  ardu 
ous  than  this  shovelling  in  the  wet  thaw  or  picking  at  frozen 
gravel  in  the  hot  sun.  If  so,  the  Colonel  might  be  induced  to 
exchange.  It  wras  obvious  that,  like  so  many  Southerners,  he 
stood  the  sun  very  ill.  While  they  were  agreeing  upon  a  ren 
dezvous  the  Superintendent  came  back. 

.  "Our  bunk-house  is  yonder,"  he  said,  pointing.  A  kind  of 
sickness  came  over  the  Kentuckian  as  he  recalled  the  place.  He 
turned  to  his  pardner. 

"Wish  we'd  got  a  pack-mule  and  brought  our  tent  out  from 
Dawson."  Then,  apologetically,  to  the  Superintendent:  "You 
see,  sah,  there  are  men  who  take  to  bunk-houses  just  as  there 
are  women  who  want  to  live  in  hotels;  and  there  are  others 
who  want  a  place  to  call  home,  even  if  it's  a  tent." 

The  Superintendent  smiled.  "That's  the  way  we  feel  about 
it  in  Alabama."  He  reflected  an  instant.  "There's  that  big 
new  tent  up  there  on  the  hill,  next  to  the  Buckeyes'  cabin. 
Good  tent;  belongs  to  a  couple  o'  rich  Englishmen,  third  owners 
in  No.  o.  Gone  to  Atlin.  Told  me  to  do  what  I  liked  with 
that  tent.  You  might  bunk  there  wrhile  they're  away." 

"Now,  that's  mighty  good  of  you,  sah.  Next  whose  cabin 
did  you  say?" 

"Oh,  I  don't  know  their  names.  They  have  a  lay  on  seven 
teen.  Ohio  men.  They're  called  Buck  One  and  Buck  Two. 
Anybody  '11  show  you  to  the  Buckeyes' ;"  and  he  turned  away 
to  shout  "Gate!"  for  the  head  of  water  was  too  strong,  and 
he  strode  off  towards  the  lock. 

As  the  Boy  tramped  about  looking  for  work  he  met  a  great 
many  on  the  same  quest.  It  seemed  as  if  the  Colonel  had 
secured  the  sole  job  on  the  creek.  Still,  vacancies  might  occur 
any  hour. 

In  the  big  new  tent  the  Colonel  lay  asleep  on  a  little  camp- 

377 


THE   MAGNETIC   NORTH 

bed,  (mercifully  left  there  by  the  rich  Englishmen),  "gettin' 
ready  for  the  night-shift."  As  he  stood  looking  down  upon 
him,  a  sudden  wave  of  pity  came  over  the  Boy.  He  knew  the 
Colonel  didn't  "really  and  truly  have  to  do  this  kind  of  thing; 
he  just  didn't  like  givin'  in."  But  behind  all  that  there  was 
a  sense  in  the  younger  mind  that  here  was  a  life  unlike  his 
own,  which  dimly  he  foresaw  was  to  find  its  legitimate  ex 
pression  in  battle  and  in  striving.  Here,  in  the  person  of  the 
Colonel,  no  soldier  fore-ordained,  but  a  serene  and  equable 
soul  wrenched  out  of  its  proper  sphere  by  a  chance  hurt  to  a 
woman,  forsooth!  an  imagination  so  stirred  that,  if  it  slept  at 
all,  it  dreamed  and  moaned  in  its  sleep,  as  now;  a  conscience 
wounded  and  refusing  to  heal.  Had  he  not  said  himself  that 
he  had  come  up  here  to  forget?  It  was  best  to  let  him  have 
the  job  that  was  too  heavy  for  him — yes,  it  was  best,  after  all. 

And  so  they  lived  for  a  few  days,  the  Boy  chafing  and  want 
ing  to  move  on,  the  Colonel  very  earnest  to  have  him  stay. 

"Something  sure  to  turn  up,  and,  anyhow,  letters — my  in 
struction "  And  he  encouraged  the  acquaintance  the  Boy 

had  struck  up  with  the  Buckeyes,  hoping  against  hope  that  to  go 
over  and  smoke  a  pipe,  and  exchange  experiences  with  such 
mighty  good  fellows  would  lighten  the  tedium  of  the  long  day 
spent  looking  for  a  job. 

"I  call  it  a  very  pleasant  cabin,"  the  Colonel  would  say  as 
he  lit  up  and  looked  about. 

Anything  dismaller  it  would  be  hard  to  find.  Not  clean  and 
shipshape  as  the  Boy  kept  the  tent.  But  with  double  army 
blankets  nailed  over  the  single  window  it  was  blessedly  dark, 
if  stuffy,  and  in  crying  need  of  cleaning.  Still,  they  were 
mighty  good  fellows,  and  they  had  a  right  to  be  cheerful. 
Up  there,  on  the  rude  shelf  above  the  stove,  was  a  row  of  old 
tomato-cans  brimful  of  Bonanza  gold.  There  they  stood,  not 
even  covered.  Dim  as  the  light  was,  you  could  see  the  little 
top  nuggets  peering  out  at  you  over  the  ragged  tin-rims,  in  a 
never  locked  shanty,  never  molested,  never  bothered  about. 
Nearly  every  cabin  on  the  creek  had  similar  chimney  orna 
ments,  but  not  everyone  boasted  an  old  coat,  kept  under  the 
bunk,  full  of  the  bigger  sort  of  nuggets. 

The  Colonel  was  always  ready  with  pretended  admiration 
of  such  bric-a-brac,  but  the  truth  was  he  cared  very  little  about 
this  gold  he  had  come  so  far  to  find.  His  own  wages,  paid  in 
dust,  were  kept  in  a  jam-pot  the  Boy  had  found  "lyin*  round." 

378 


THE    KLONDYKE 

The  growing  store  shone  cheerfully  through  the  glass,  but  its 
value  in  the  Colonel's  eyes  seemed  to  be  simply  as  an  argument 
to  prove  that  they  had  enough,  and  "needn't  worry."  When 
the  Boy  said  there  was  no  doubt  this  was  the  district  in  all  the 
world  the  most  overdone,  the  Colonel  looked  at  him  with  sun- 
tired,  reproachful  eyes. 

"You  want  to  dissolve  the  pardnership — I  see." 

"I  don't." 

But  the  Colonel,  after  any  such  interchange,  would  go  off 
and  smoke  by  himself,  not  even  caring  for  Buckeyes'.  The 
work  was  plainly  overtaxing  him.  He  slept  badly,  was  growing 
moody  and  quick  to  take  offence.  One  day  when  he  had  been 
distinctly  uncivil  he  apologized  for  himself  by  saying  that, 
standing  with  feet  always  in  the  wet,  head  always  in  the  scorch 
ing  sun,  he  had  taken  a  hell  of  a  cold.  Certain  it  was  that, 
without  sullenness,  he  would  give  in  to  long  fits  of  silence ;  and 
his  wide,  honest  eyes  were  heavy  again,  as  if  the  snow-blind 
ness  of  the  winter  had  its  analogue  in  a  summer  torment  from 
the  sun.  And  his  sometimes  unusual  gentleness  to  his  compan 
ion  was  sharply  alternated  with  unusual  choler,  excited  by  a 
mere  nothing.  Enough  if  the  Boy  were  not  in  the  tent  when 
the  Colonel  came  and  went.  Of  course,  the  Boy  did  the  cook 
ing.  The  Colonel  ate  almost  nothing,  but  he  made  a  great 
point  of  his  pardner's  service  in  doing  the  cooking.  He  would 
starve,  he  said,  if  he  had  to  cook  for  himself  as  well  as  swing 
a  shovel ;  and  the  Boy,  acting  on  pure  instinct,  pretended  that 
he  believed  this  was  so. 

Then  came  the  evening  when  the  Boy  was  so  late  the  Colonel 
got  his  own  breakfast;  and  when  the  recreant  did  get  home, 
it  was  to  announce  that  a  man  over  at  the  Buckeyes'  had  just 
offered  him  a  job  out  on  Indian  River. 

The  Colonel  set  down  his  tea-cup  and  stared.  His  face  took 
on  an  odd,  rigid  look.  But  almost  indifferently  he  said : 

"So  you're  goin'?" 

"Of  course,  you  know  I  must.  I  started  with  an  outfit  and 
fifteen  hundred  dollars,  now  I  haven't  a  cent." 

The  Kentuckian  raised  his  heavy  eyes  to  the  jam-jar.  "Oh, 
help  yourself." 

The  Boy  laughed,  and  shook  his  head. 

"I  wish  you  wouldn't  go,"  the  other  said  very  low. 

"You  see,  I've  got  to.  Why,  Nig  and  I  owe  you  for  a 
wreek's  grub  already." 

379 


THE    MAGNETIC    NORTH 

Therf  the  Colonel  stood  up  and  swore — swore  till  he  was 
scarlet  and  shaking  with  excitement. 

"If  the  life  up  here  has  brought  us  to  'Scowl'  Austin's  point 
of  view,  we  are  poorly  off."  And  he  spoke  of  the  way  men 
lived  in  his  part  of  Kentucky,  where  the  old  fashion  of  keeping 
open  house  survived.  And  didn't  he  know  it  wras  the  same 
thing  in  Florida?  " Wouldn't  you  do  as  much  for  me?" 

"Yes,  only  I  can't — and — I'm  restless.  The  summer's  half 
gone.  Up  here  that  means  the  whole  year's  half  gone." 

The  Colonel  had  stumbled  back  into  his  seat,  and  now  across 
the  deal  table  he  put  out  his  hand. 

"Don't  go,  Boy.  I  don't  know  how  I'd  get  on  without " 

He  stopped,  and  his  big  hand  was  raised  as  if  to  brush  away 
some  cloud  between  him  and  his  pardner.  "If  you  go,  you 
won't  come  back." 

"Oh,  yes,  I  will.     You'll  see." 

"I  know  the  kind,"  the  other  went  on,  as  if  there  had  been 
no  interruption.  "They  never  come  back.  I  don't  know  as  I 
ever  cared  quite  as  much  for  my  brother — little  fella  that  died, 
you  know."  Then,  seeing  that  his  companion  did  not  instantly 
iterate  his  determination  to  go,  "That's  right,"  he  said,  getting 
up  suddenly,  and  leaving  his  breakfast  barely  touched.  "We've 
been  through  such  a  lot  together,  let's  see  it  out." 

Without  waiting  for  an  answer,  he  went  off  to  his  favourite 
seat  under  the  little  birch-tree.  But  the  incident  had  left  him 
nervous.  He  would  come  up  from  his  work  almost  on  the  run, 
and  if  he  failed  to  find  his  pardner  in  the  tent  there  was  the 
devil  to  pay.  The  Boy  would  laugh  to  himself  to  think  what 
a  lot  he  seemed  able  to  stand  from  the  Colonel;  and  then  he 
would  grow  grave,  remembering  what  he  had  to  make  up  for. 
Still,  his  sense  of  obligation  did  not  extend  to  giving  up  this 
splendid  chance  down  on  Indian  River.  On  Wednesday,  when 
the  fellow  over  at  the  Buckeyes'  was  for  going  back,  the  Boy 
would  go  along. 

On  Sunday  morning  he  ran  a  crooked,  rusty  nail  into  his 
foot.  Clumsily  extracted,  it  left  an  ugly  wound.  Walking 
became  a  torture,  and  the  pain  a  banisher  of  sleep.  It  was  dur 
ing  the  next  few  days  that  he  found  out  how  much  the  Colonel 
lay  awake.  Who  could  sleep  in  this  blazing  sun?  Black  tents 
were  not  invented  then,  so  they  lay  awake  and  talked  of  many 
things. 

The  man  from  Indian  River  went  back  alone.     The  Boy 

380 


THE    KLONDYKE 

would  limp  after  the  Colonel  down  to  the  sluice,  and  sit  on  a 
dump-heap  with  Nig.  Few  people  not  there  strictly  on  busi 
ness  wrere  tolerated  on  No.  o,  but  Nig  and  his  master  had  been 
on  good  terms  with  Seymour  from  the  first.  Now  they  struck 
up  acquaintance  writh  several  of  the  night-gang,  especially  with 
the  men  who  worked  on  either  side  of  the  Colonel.  An  Irish 
gentleman,  who  did  the  shovelling  just  below,  said  he  had 
graduated  from  Dublin  University.  He  certainly  had  been 
educated  somewhere,  and  if  the  discussion  wrere  theologic, 
would  take  out  of  his  linen-coat  pocket  a  little  testament  in 
the  Vulgate  to  verify  a  bit  of  Gospel.  He  could  even  pelt  the 
man  next  but  one  in  his  native  tongue,  calling  the  Silesian 
"Uebermensch."  There  existed  some  doubt  whether  this  were 
the  gentleman's  real  name,  but  none  at  all  as  to  his  talking 
philosophy  with  greater  fervour  than  he  bestowed  on  the  pud- 
dling-box. 

The  others  were  men  more  accustomed  to  work  with  their 
hands,  but,  in  spite  of  the  conscious  superiority  of  your  ex 
perienced  miner,  a  very  good  feeling  prevailed  in  the  gang — a 
general  friendliness  that  presently  centred  about  the  Colonel, 
for  even  in  his  present  mood  he  was  far  from  disagreeable,  ex 
cept  now  and  then,  to  the  man  he  cared  the  most  for. 

Seymour  admitted  that  he  had  placed  the  Southerner  where 
he  thought  he'd  feel  most  at  home.  "Anyhow,  the  company  is 
less  mixed,"  he  said,  "than  it  was  all  winter  up  at  twenty-three, 
where  they  had  a  Presbyterian  missionary  down  the  shaft,  a 
Salvation  Army  captain  turnin'  the  windlass,  a  nigger  thief 
dumpin'  the  becket,  and  a  dignitary  of  the  Church  of  England 
doin'  the  cookin',  with  the  help  of  a  Chinese  chore-boy.  They're 
all  there  now  (except  one)  washin'  out  gold  for  the  couple  of 
San  Francisco  card-sharpers  that  own  the  claim." 

"Vich  von  is  gone?"  asked  the  Silesian,  who  heard  the  end 
of  the  conversation. 

"Oh,  the  Chinese  .chore-boy  is  the  one  who's  bettered  him 
self,"  said  the  Superintendent — -"makin'  more  than  all  the 
others  put  together  ever  made  in  their  lives;  runnin'  a  laundry 
up  at  Dawson." 

The  Boy,  since  this  trouble  with  his  foot,  had  fallen  into  the 
way  of  turning  night  into  day.  The  Colonel  liked  to  have  him 
down  there  at  the  sluice,  and  wrhen  he  thought  about  it,  the 
Boy  marvelled  at  the  hours  he  spent  looking  on  while  others 
worked. 

381 


THE    MAGNETIC   NORTH 

At  first  he  said  he  came  down  only  to  make  Scowl  Austin 
mad.  And  it  did  make  him  mad  at  first,  but  the  odd  thing 
was  he  got  over  it,  and  used  to  stop  and  say  something  now 
and  then.  This  attention  on  the  part  of  the  owner  was  dis 
tinctly  perilous  to  the  Boy's  good  standing  with  the  gang.  Not 
because  Austin  was  the  owner ;  there  was  the  millionaire  Swede, 
Ole  Olsen — any  man  might  talk  to  him.  He  was  on  the 
square,  treated  his  workmen  mighty  fair,  and  when  the  other 
owners  tried  to  reduce  wrages,  and  did,  Ole  wouldn't  join  them 
— went  right  along  paying  the  highest  rate  on  the  creek. 

Various  stories  were  afloat  about  Austin.  Oh,  yes,  Scowl 
Austin  was  a  hard  man — the  only  owner  on  the  creek  who 
wouldn't  even  pay  the  little  subscription  every  poor  miner  con 
tributed  to  keep  the  Dawson  Catholic  Hospital  going. 

The  women,  too,  had  grievances  against  Austin,  not  only 
"the  usual  lot"  up  at  the  Gold  Belt,  who  sneered  at  his  close 
fist,  but  some  of  the  other  sort — those  few  hard-working  wives 
or  "women  on  their  own,"  or  those  who  washed  and  cooked 
for  this  claim  or  that.  They  had  stories  about  Austin  that  shed 
a  lurid  light.  And  so  by  degrees  the  gathered  experience,  good 
and  ill,  of  "the  greatest  of  all  placer  diggin's"  flowed  by  the 
idler  on  the  bank. 

"You  seem  to  have  a  lot  to  do,"  Seymour  would  now  and 
then  say  with  a  laugh. 

"So  I  have." 

"What  do  you  call  it?" 

"Takin'  stock." 

"Of  us?" 

"Of  things  in  general." 

"What  did  you  mean  by  that?"  demanded  the  Colonel  sus 
piciously  when  the  Superintendent  had  passed  up  the  line. 

The  shovelling  in  was  done  for  the  time  being.  The  water 
was  to  be  regulated,  and  then  the  clean-up  as  soon  as  the  owner 
came  down. 

"Better  not  let  Austin  hear  you  say  you're  takin'  stock.  He'll 
run  you  out  o'  the  creek." 

The  Boy  only  smiled,  and  went  on  fillipping  little  stones 
at  Nig. 

"What  did  you  mean?"  the  Colonel  persisted,  with  a  look  as 
suspicious  as  Scowl  Austin's  own. 

"Oh,  nothin'.     I'm  only  thinkin'  out  things." 

"Your  future,  I  suppose?"  he  said  testily. 

382 


THE    KLONDYKE 

"Mine  and  other  men's.  The  Klondyke's  a  great  place  to  get 
things  clear  in  your  head." 

"Don't  find  it  so."  The  Colonel  put  up  his  hand  with  that 
now  familiar  action  as  if  to  clear  away  a  cloud.  "It's  days  since 
I  had  anything  clear  in  my  head,  except  the  lesson  we  learned 
on  the  trail." 

The  Boy  stopped  throwing  stones,  and  fixed  his  eyes  on  his 
friend,  as  the  Colonel  went  on : 

"We  had  that  hammered  into  us,  didn't  we?" 

"What?" 

"Oh,  that — you  know — that I  don't  know  quite  how 

to  put  it  so  it'll  sound  as  orthodox  as  it  might  be,  bein'  true ;  but 
it  looks  pretty  clear  even  to  me" — again  the  big  hand  brushing 
at  the  unmoted  sunshine — "that  the  only  reason  men  got  over 
bein'  beasts  wras  because  they  began  to  be  brothers." 

"Don't,"  said  the  Boy. 

"Don't  what?" 

"I've  always  known  I  should  have  to  tell  you  some  time.  I 
won't  be  able  to  put  it  off  if  I  stay  .  .  .  and  I  hate  tell  in' 
you  now.  See  here:  I  b'lieve  I'll  get  a  pack-mule  and  go  over 
to  Indian  River." 

The  Colonel  looked  round  angrily.  Standing  high  against 
the  sky,  Seymour,  with  the  gateman  up  at  the  lock,  was  moder 
ating  the  strong  head  of  water.  It  began  to  flow  sluggishly 
over  the  gravel-clogged  riffles,  and  ScowTl  Austin  was  coming 
down  the  hill. 

"I  don't  know  what  you're  drivin'  at,  about  somethin'  to  tell. 
I  know  one  thing,  though,  and  I  learned  it  up  here  in  the 
North:  men  were  meant  to  stick  to  one  another." 

"Don't,  I  say." 

"Here's  Austin,"  whispered  the  Colonel. 

The  Silesian  philosopher  stood  in  his  "gum-boots"  in  the 
puddling-box  as  on  a  rostrum ;  but  silent  now,  as  ever,  \vhen 
Scowl  Austin  was  in  sight.  With  the  great  sluice-fork,  the 
philosopher  took  up,  washed,  and  threw  out  the  few  remain 
ing  big  stones  that  they  might  not  clog  the  narrow  boxes  below. 

Seymour  had  so  regulated  the  stream  that,  in  place  of  the 
gush  and  foam  of  a  few  minutes  before,  there  was  now  only  a 
scant  and  gently  falling  veil  of  wrater  playing  over  the  bright 
gravel  caught  in  the  riffle-lined  bottoms  of  the  boxes. 

As  the  Boy  got  up  and  reached  for  his  stick,  Austin  stood 
there  saying,  to  nobody  in  particular,  that  he'd  just  been  over  to 
No.  29,  where  they  were  trying  a  new-fangled  riffle. 

383 


THE    MAGNETIC    NORTH 

"Don't  your  riffles  do  the  trick  all  right?"  asked  the  Boy. 

"If  you're  in  any  doubt,  come  and  see,"  he  said. 

They  stood  together,  leaning  over  the  sluice,  looking  in  at 
one  of  the  things  human  industry  has  failed  to  disfigure,  nearly 
as  beautiful  to-day  as  long  ago  on  Pactolus'  banks  when  Lydian 
shepherds,  with  great  stones,  fastened  fleeces  in  the  river  that 
they  might  catch  and  gather  for  King  Croesus  the  golden  sands 
of  Tmolus.  Improving,  not  in  beauty,  but  economy,  quite  in 
the  modern  spirit,  the  Greeks  themselves  discovered  that  they 
lost  less  gold  if  they  led  the  stream  through  fleece-lined*  water- 
troughs — and  beyond  this  device  of  those  early  placer-miners  we 
have  not  progressed  so  far  but  that,  in  every  long,  narrow  sluice- 
box  in  the  world  to-day,  you  may  see  a  Lydian  water-trough 
with  a  riffle  in  the  bottom  for  a  golden  fleece. 

The  rich  Klondyker  and  the  poor  one  stood  together  looking 
in  at  the  water,  still  low,  still  slipping  softly  over  polished  peb 
bles,  catching  at  the  sunlight,  winking,  dimpling,  glorifying 
flint  and  jasper,  agate  and  obsidian,  dazzling  the  uncommercial 
eye  to  blind  forgetfulness  of  the  magic  substance  underneath. 

Austin  gathered  up,  one  by  one,  a  handful  of  the  shining 
stones,  and  tossed  them  out.  Then,  bending  down,  "See?" 

There,  under  where  the  stones  had  been,  neatly  caught  in  the 
lattice  of  the  riffle,  lying  thick  and  packed  by  the  water  action, 
a  heavy  ridge  of  black  and  yellow — magnetic  sand  and  gold. 

"Riffles  out!"  called  Seymour,  and  the  men,  who  had  been 
extracting  the  rusty  nails  that  held  them  firm,  lifted  out  from 
the  bottom  of  each  box  a  wooden  lattice,  soused  it  gently  in  the 
water,  and  laid  it  on  the  bank. 

The  Boy  had  turned  away  again,  but  stood  an  instant  noticing 
how  the  sun  caught  at  the  countless  particles  of  gold  still  cling 
ing  to  the  wood ;  for  this  was  one  of  the  old  riffles,  frayed  by  the 
action  of  much  water  and  the  fret  of  many  stones.  Soon  it 
would  have  to  be  burned,  and  out  of  its  ashes  the  careful  Austin 
would  gather  up  with  mercury  all  those  million  points  of  light. 

Meanwhile,  Seymour  had  called  to  the  gateman  for  more 
water,  and  himself  joining  the  gang,  armed  n<3w  with  flat  metal 
scoops,  they  all  began  to  turn  over  and  throw  back  against  the 
stream  the  debris  in  the  bottom  of  the  boxes,  giving  the  water 
another  chance  to  wash  out  the  lighter  stuff  and  clean  the  gold 
from  all  impurity.  Awray  went  the  last  of  the  sand,  and  away 
went  the  pebbles,  dark  or  bright,  away  went  much  of  the  heavy 
magnetic  iron.  Scowl  Austin,  at  the  end  of  the  line,  had  a  corn- 

384 


THE    KLONDYKE 

whisk  with  which  he  swept  the  floor  of  the  box,  always  up 
stream,  gathering  the  contents  in  a  heap,  now  on  this  side,  now 
on  that,  letting  the  water  play  and  sort  and  carry  away,  con 
densing,  hastening  the  process  that  for  ages  had  been  concen 
trating  gold  in  the  Arctic  placers. 

"Say,  look  here!"  shouted  Austin  to  the  Boy,  already  limp 
ing  up  the  hill. 

When  he  had  reached  the  sluice  again  he  found  that  all  Scowl 
Austin  wanted,  apparently,  was  to  show  him  how,  when  he  held 
the  water  back  with  the  whisk,  it  eddied  softly  at  each  side  of 
the  broad  little  broom,  leaving  exposed  the  swept-up  pile. 

"See?" 

"What's  all  that?" 

"What  do  you  think?" 

"Looks  like  a  heap  o'  sawdust." 

Austin  actually  laughed. 

"See  if  it  feels  like  sawdust.  Take  it  up  like  this,"  he  ordered. 

His  visitor  obeyed,  lifting  a  double  handful  out  of  the  water 
and  holding  it  over  the  box,  dripping,  gleaming,  the  most  beau 
tiful  thing  that  comes  out  of  the  earth,  save  only  life,  and  the 
assertion  may  stand,  even  if  the  distinction  is  without  difference, 
if  the  crystal  is  born,  grows  old,  and  dies  as  undeniably  as 
the  rose. 

The  Boy  held  the  double  handful  of  well-washed  gold  up  to 
the  sunshine,  feeling  to  the  full  the  immemorial  spell  cast  by 
the  King  of  Metals.  Nothing  that  men  had  ever  made  out  of 
gold  was  so  entirely  beautiful  as  this. 

Scowl  Austin's  grim  gratification  was  openly  heightened 
with  the  rich  man's  sense  of  superiority,  but  his  visitor  seemed 
to  have  forgotten  him. 

"Colonel!  here  a  minute.  We  thought  it  looked  wonderful 
enough  on  the  Big  Chimney  table — but  Lord!  to  see  it  like 
this,  out  o'  doors,  mixed  with  sunshine  and  water !" 

Still  he  stood  there  fascinated,  leaning  heavily  against  the 
sluice-box,  still  with  his  dripping  hands  full,  when,  after  a  hur 
ried  glance,  the  Colonel  returned  to  his  own  box.  None  of  the 
gang  ever  talked  in  the  presence  of  the  owner. 

"Guess  that  looks  good  to  you."  Austin  slightly  stressed  the 
pronoun.  He  had  taken  a  reasonless  liking  for  the  young  man, 
who  from  the  first  had  smiled  into  his  frowning  face,  and  treated 
him  as  he  treated  others.  Or  perhaps  Austin  liked  him  be- 

385 


THE    MAGNETIC    NORTH 

cause,  although  the  Boy  did  a  good  deal  of  "gassin'  with  the 
gang,"  he  had  never  hung  about  at  clean-ups.  At  all  events,  he 
should  stay  to-night,  partly  because  when  the  blue  devils  were 
down  on  Scowl  Austin  nothing  cheered  him  like  showing  his 
"luck"  off  to  someone.  And  it  was  so  seldom  safe  in  these 
days.  People  talked.  The  authorities  conceived  unjust  sus 
picions  of  a  man's  returns.  And  then,  far  back  in  his  head,  that 
vague  need  men  feel,  when  a  good  thing  has  lost  its  early  zest,  to 
see  its  dimmed  value  shine  again  in  an  envious  eye.  Here  was 
a  young  fellow,  who,  before  he  went  lame,  had  been  all  up  and 
down  the  creek  for  days  looking  for  a  job — probably  hadn't  a 
penny — livin'  off  his  friend,  who  himself  would  starve  but 
for  the  privilege  Austin  gave  him  of  washing  out  Austin's 
gold.  Let  the  young  man  stop  and  see  the  richest  clean-up  at 
the  Forks. 

And  so  it  was  with  the  acrid  pleasure  he  had  promised  himself 
that  he  said  to  the  visitor,  bending  over  the  double  handful  of 
gold,  "Guess  it  looks  good  to  you." 

"Yes,  it  looks  good !"  But  he  had  lifted  his  eyes,  and  seemed 
to  be  studying  the  man  more  than  the  metal. 

A  couple  of  newcomers,  going  by,  halted. 

"Christ!"  said  the  younger,  "look  at  that!" 

The  Boy  remembered  them ;  they  had  been  to  Seymour  only 
a  couple  of  hours  before  asking  for  work.  One  was  old  for 
that  country — nearly  sixty — and  looked,  as  one  of  the  gang  had 
said,  "as  if,  instid  o'  findin'  the  pot  o'  gold,  he  had  got  the  end 
of  the  rainbow  slam  in  his  face — kind  o'  blinded." 

At  sound  of  the  strange  voice  Austin  had  wheeled  about  with 
a  fierce  look,  and  heavily  the  strangers  plodded  by.  The  owner 
turned  again  to  the  gold.  "Yes,"  he  said  curtly,  "there's  some 
thing  about  that  that  looks  good  to  most  men." 

"What  I  was  thinkin',"  replied  the  Boy  slowly,  "was  that  it 
was  the  only  clean  gold  I'd  ever  seen — but  it  isn't  so  clean  as 
it  was." 

"What  do  you  mean?"  Austin  bent  and  looked  sharply  into 
the  full  hands. 

"I  was  thinkin'  it  was  good  to  look  at  because  it  hadn't  got 
into  dirty  pockets  yet."  Austin  stared  at  him  an  instant. 
"Never  been  passed  round — never  bought  anybody.  No  one 
had  ever  envied  it,  or  refused  it  to  help  someone  out  of  a  hole. 
That  was  why  I  thought  it  looked  good — because  it  was  clean 

386 


THE    KLONDYKE 

gold  ...  a  little  while  ago."  And  he  plunged  his  hands  in 
the  water  and  washed  the  clinging  particles  off  his  fingers. 

Austin  had  stared,  and  then  turned  his  back  with  a  blacker 
look  than  even  "Scowl"  had  ever  worn  before. 

"Gosh!  guess  there's  goin'  to  be  trouble,"  said  one  of  the 
gang. 


387 


CHAPTER  XXI 

PARDNERS 

"  He  saw,  and  first  of  brotherhood  had  sight  ..." 

IT  was  morning,  and  the  night-shift  might  go  to  bed ;  but  in 
the  absent  Englishmen's  tent  there  was  little  sleep  and  less 

talk  that  day.  The  Boy,  in  an  agony,  with  a  foot  on  fire, 
heard  the  Colonel  turning,  tossing,  growling  incoherently  about 
"the  light." 

It  seemed  unreasonable,  for  a  frame  had  been  built  round  his 
bed,  and  on  it  thick  gray  army  blankets  were  nailed — a  rect 
angular  tent.  Had  he  cursed  the  heat  now?  But  no:  "light," 
"God!  the  light,  the  light!"  just  as  if  he  were  lying  as  the 
Boy  was,  in  the  strong  white  glare  of  the  tent.  But  hour  after 
hour  within  the  stifling  fortress  the  giant  tossed  and  muttered 
at  the  swords  of  sunshine  that  pierced  his  semi-dusk  through 
little  spark-burnt  hole  or  nail-tear,  torturing  sensitive  eyes. 

Near  three  hours  before  he  needed,  the  Colonel  got  up  and 
splashed  his  way  through  a  toilet  at  the  tin  basin.  The  Boy 
made  breakfast  without  waiting  for  the  usual  hour.  They  had 
nearly  finished  when  it  occurred  to  the  Colonel  that  neither  had 
spoken  since  they  went  to  bed.  He  glanced  across  at  the  ab 
sorbed  face  of  his  friend. 

"You'll  come  down  to  the  sluice  to-night,  won't  you?" 

"Why  shouldn't  I?" 

"No  reason  on  earth,  only  I  was  afraid  you  were  broodin' 
over  what  you  said  to  Austin." 

"Austin?    Oh,  I'm  not  thinkin'  about  Austin.'" 

"What,  then?     What  makes  you  so  quiet?" 

"Well,  I'm  thinkin'  I'd  be  better  satisfied  to  stay  here  a 
little  longer  if " 

"If  what?" 

"If  there  was  truth  between  us  two." 

"I  thought  there  was." 

"No.    What's  the  reason  you  want  me  to  stay  here?" 

388 


PARDNERS 

"Reason?  Why" — he  laughed  in  his  old  way — "I  don't  de 
fend  my  taste,  but  I  kind  o'  like  to  have  you  round." 

His  companion's  grave  face  showed  no  lightening.  "Why 
do  you  want  me  round  more  than  someone  else?" 

"Haven't  got  anyone  else." 

"Oh,  yes,  you  have!  Every  man  on  Bonanza's  a  friend  o' 
yours,  or  would  be." 

"It  isn't  just  that;  we  understand  each  other." 

"No,  we  don't." 

"What's  wrong?" 

No  answer.  The  Boy  looked  through  the  door  across  Bo 
nanza  to  the  hills. 

"I  thought  we  understood  each  other  if  two  men  ever  did. 
Haven't  we  travelled  the  Long  Trail  together  and  seen  the  ice 
go  out?" 

"That's  just  it,  Colonel.  We  know  such  a  lot  more  than 
men  do  who  haven't  travelled  the  Trail,  and  some  of  the 
knowledge  isn't  oversweet." 

A  shadow  crossed  the  kind  face  opposite. 

"You're  thinkin'  about  the  times  I  pegged  out — didn't  do 
my  share." 

"Lord,  no!"  The  tears  sprang  up  in  the  young  eyes.  "I'm 
thinkin'  o'  the  times — I—  He  laid  his  head  down  on  the 

rude  table,  and  sat  so  for  an  instant  with  hidden  face ;  then  he 
straightened  up.  "Seems  as  if  it's  only  lately  there's  been  time 
to  think  it  out.  And  before,  as  long  as  I  could  work  I  could 
get  on  with  myself.  .  .  .  Seemed  as  if  I  stood  a  chance  to 
.  .  .  a  little  to  make  up." 

"Make  up?" 

"But  it's  always  just  as  it  was  that  day  on  the  Oklahoma, 
when  the  captain  swore  he  wouldn't  take  on  another  pound. 
I  was  awfully  happy  thinkin'  if  I  made  him  bring  you  it  might 
kind  o'  make  up,  but  it  didn't." 

"Made  a  big  difference  to  me,"  the  Colonel  said,  still  not 
able  to  see  the  drift,  but  patiently  brushing  now  and  then  at 
the  dazzling  mist  and  waiting  for  enlightenment. 

"It's  always  the  same,"  the  other  went  on.  "Whenever  I've 
come  up  against  something  I'd  hoped  was  goin'  to  make  up, 
it's  turned  out  to  be  a  thing  I'd  have  to  do  anyway,  and  there 
was  no  make  up  about  it.  For  all  that,  I  shouldn't  mind  stay- 
in'  on  awhile  since  you  want  me  to 

The  Colonel  interrupted  him,  "That's  right!" 

389 


THE    MAGNETIC    NORTH 

"Only  if  I  do,  you've  got  to  know — what  I'd  never  have 
guessed  myself,  but  for  the  Trail.  After  I've  told  you,  if  you 

can  bear  to  see  me  round "     He  hesitated  and   suddenly 

stood  up,  his  eyes  still  wet,  but  his  head  so  high  an  onlooker 
who  did  not  understand  English  would  have  called  the  govern 
ing  impulse  pride,  defiance  even.  "It  seems  I'm  the  kind  of 
man,  Colonel — the  kind  of  man  who  could  leave  his  pardner 
to  die  like  a  dog  in  the  snow." 

"If  any  other  fella  said  so,  I'd  knock  him  down." 

"That  night  before  we  got  to  Snow  Camp,  when  you 
wouldn't — couldn't  go  any  farther,  I  meant  to  go  and  leave 
you — take  the  sled,  and  take — I  guess  I  meant  to  take  every 
thing  and  leave  you  to  starve." 

They  looked  into  each  other's  faces,  and  years  seemed  to  go 
by.  The  Colonel  was  the  first  to  drop  his  eyes;  but  the  other, 
pitilessly,  like  a  judge  arraigning  a  felon,  his  steady  scrutiny 
never  flinching:  "Do  you  want  that  kind  of  a  man  round, 
Colonel  ?" 

The  Kentuckian  turned  quickly  as  if  to  avoid  the  stab  of 
the  other's  eye,  and  sat  hunched  together,  elbows  on  knees, 
head  in  hands. 

"I  knew  you  didn't."  The  Boy  answered  his  own  question. 
He  limped  over  to  his  side  of  the  tent,  picked  up  some  clothes, 
his  blanket  and  few  belongings,  and  made  a  pack.  Not  a  word, 
not  a  sound,  but  some  birds  twittering  outside  in  the  sun  and  a 
locust  making  that  frying  sound  in  the  fire-weed.  The  pack 
was  slung  on  the  Boy's  back,  and  he  was  throwing  the  diamond 
hitch  to  fasten  it  when  the  Colonel  at  last  looked  round. 

"Lord,  what  you  doin'?" 

"Guess  I'm  goin'  on." 

"Where?" 

"I'll  write  you  when  I  know;  maybe  I'll  even  send  you  what 
I  owe  you,  but  I  don't  feel  like  boastin'  at  the  moment.  Nig!" 

"You  can't  walk." 

"Did  you  never  happen  to  notice  that  one-legged  fella  plug- 
gin'  about  Dawson?" 

He  had  gone  down  on  his  hands  and  knees  to  see  if  Nig  was 
asleep  under  the  camp-bed.  The  Colonel  got  up,  went  to  the 
door,  and  let  down  the  flap.  When  he  turned,  the  traveller 
and  the  dog  were  at  his  elbow.  He  squared  his  big  frame  at 
the  entrance,  looking  down  at  the  two,  tried  to  speak,  but  the 
Boy  broke  in:  "Don't  let's  get  sentimental,  Colonel;  just  stand 
aside." 

390 


PARDNERS 

Never  stirring,  he  found  a  voice  to  say,  "I'm  not  askin'  you 
to  stay" — the  other  turned  and  whistled,  for  Nig  had  retired 
again  to  the  seclusion  of  the  gray  blanket  screen — ''I  only  want 
to  tell  you  something  before  you  go." 

The  Boy  frowned  a  little,  but  rested  his  pack  against  the 
table  in  that  way  in  which  the  Klondyker  learns  to  make  a 
chair-back  of  his  burden. 

"You  seem  to  think  you've  been  tellin'  me  news,"  said  the 
Colonel.  "When  you  said  that  about  goin'  on,  the  night  be 
fore  we  got  to  Snow  Camp,  I  knew  you  simply  meant  you  still 
intended  to  come  out  alive.  I  had  thrown  up  my  hands — at 
least,  I  thought  I  had.  The  only  difference  between  us — I  had 
given  in  and  you  hadn't." 

The  other  shook  his  head.  "There  was  a  lot  more  in  it  than 
that." 

"You  meant  to  take  the  only  means  there  were — to  carry  off 
the  sled  that  I  couldn't  pull  any  farther —  The  Boy  looked 

up  quickly.  Something  stern  and  truth-compelling  in  the  dark 
face  forced  the  Colonel  to  add:  "And  along  with  the  sled  you 
meant  to  carry  off — the — the  things  that  meant  life  to  us." 

"Just  that The  Boy  knotted  his  brown  fingers  in  Nig's 

hair  as  if  to  keep  tight  hold  of  one  friend  in  the  wreck. 

"We  couldn't  divide,"  the  Colonel  hurried  on.  "It  was  a 
case  of  crawlin'  on  together,  and,  maybe,  come  out  alive,  or 
part  and  one  die  sure." 

The  Boy  nodded,  tightening  his  lips. 

"I  knew  well  enough  you'd  fight  for  the  off-chance.     But"- 
the  Colonel  came  away  from  the  door  and  stood  in  front  of  his 
companion — "so    would    I.      I    hadn't    really    given    up    the 
struggle." 

"You  were  past  strugglin',  and  I  would  have  left  you 
sick " 

"You  wouldn't  have  left  me — if  I'd  had  my  gun." 

The  Boy  remembered  that  he  had  more  than  suspected  that 
at  the  time,  but  the  impression  had  by-and-by  waxed  dim.  It 
was  too  utterly  unlike  the  Colonel — a  thing  dreamed.  He  had 
grown  as  ashamed  of  the  dream  as  of  the  thing  he  knew  was 
true.  The  egotism  of  memory  absorbed  itself  in  the  part  he 
himself  had  played — that  other,  an  evil  fancy  born  of  an  evil 
time.  And  here  was  the  Colonel  saying  it  was  true.  The  Boy 
dropped  his  eyes.  It  had  all  happened  in  the  night.  There 
was  something  in  the  naked  truth  too  ghastly  for  the  day.  But 
the  Colonel  went  on  in  a  harsh  whisper : 

391 


THE    MAGNETIC    NORTH 

"I  looked  round  for  my  gun;  if  I'd  found  it  I'd  have  left  you 
behind:' 

And  the  Boy  kept  looking  down  at  Nig,  and  the  birds  sang, 
and  the  locust  whirred,  and  the  hot  sun  filled  the  tent  as  high- 
tide  flushes  a  sea-cave. 

"You've  been  a  little  hard  on  me,  Boy,  bringin'  it  up  like 
this — remindin'  me —  I  wouldn't  have  gone  on  myself,  and 
makin'  me  admit " 

"No,  no,  Colonel." 

"Makin'  me  admit  that  before  I  would  have  let  you  go  on 
I'd  have  shot  you!" 

"Colonel!"     He  loosed  his  hold  of  Nig. 

"I  rather  reckon  I  owe  you  my  life — and  something  else 
besides" — the  Colonel  laid  one  hand  on  the  thin  shoulder  where 
the  pack-strap  pressed,  and  closed  the  other  hand  tight  over 
his  pardner's  right — "and  I  hadn't  meant  even  to  thank  you 
neither." 

"Don't,  for  the  Lord's  sake,  don't!"  said  the  younger,  and 
neither  dared  look  at  the  other. 

A  scratching  on  the  canvas,  the  Northern  knock  at  the  door. 

"You  fellers  sound  awake?" 

A  \voman's  voice.  Under  his  breath,  "Who  the  devil's  that?" 
inquired  the  Colonel,  brushing  his  hand  over  his  eyes.  Before 
he  got  across  the  tent  Maudie  had  pushed  the  flap  aside  and 
put  in  her  head. 

"Hello!" 

"Hell-ol     How  d'e  do?" 

He  shook  hands,  and  the  younger  man  nodded,  "Hello." 

"When  did  you  come  to  town?"  asked  the  Colonel  men 
daciously. 

"Why,  nearly  three  \veeks  ago,  on  the  We  are.  Heard  you 
had  skipped  out  to  Sulphur  with  MacCann.  I  had  some  busi 
ness  out  that  way,  so  that's  where  I  been." 

"Have  some  breakfast,  won't  you — dinner,  I  mean?" 

"I  put  that  job  through  at  the  Road  House.  Got  to  rustle 
around  now  and  get  my  tent  up.  Where's  a  good  place?" 

"Well,  I — I  hardly  know.     Coin'  to  stay  some  time?" 

"Depends." 

The  Boy  slipped  off  his  pack. 

"They've  got  rooms  at  the  Gold  Belt,"  he  said. 

"You  mean  that  Dance  Hall  up  at  the  Forks?" 

"Oh,  it  ain't  so  far.    I  remember  you  can  walk." 

392 


PARDNERS 

"I  can  do  one  or  two  other  things.  Take  care  you  don't 
hurt  yourself  worryin'  about  me." 

"Hurt  myself?"' 

"Yes.  Bern'  so  hos/>/'//able.  The  way  you're  pressin'  me  to 
settle  right  down  here,  near's  possible — why,  it's  real  touchin'." 

He  laughed,  and  went  to  the  entrance  to  tie  back  the  door- 
flap,  which  was  whipping  and  snapping  in  the  breeze.  Heaven 
be  praised!  the  night  was  cooler.  Nig  had  been  perplexed  when 
he  saw  the  pack  pushed  under  the  table.  He  followed  his 
master  to  the  door,  and  stood  looking  at  the  flap-tying,  ears 
very  pointed,  critical  eye  cocked,  asking  as  plain  as  could  be, 
"You  wake  me  up  and  drag  me  out  here  into  the  heat  and 
mosquitoes  just  to  watch  you  doin'  that?  Well,  I've  my  opin 
ion  of  you." 

"Colonel  gone  down?"  inquired  the  Silesian,  passing  by. 

"Not  yet." 

"Anything  I  can  do?"  the  gentleman  inside  was  saying  with 
a  sound  of  effort  in  his  voice.  The  lady  wras  not  even  at  the 
pains  to  notice  the  perfunctory  civility. 

"Well,  Colonel,  now  you're  here,  what  do  you  think  o'  the 
Klondyke?" 

"Think?  Well,  there's  no  doubt  they've  taken  a  lot  o'  gold 
out  o'  here." 

"Reg'lar  old  Has  Been,  hey?" 

"Oh,  I  don't  say  it  hasn't  got  a  future." 

"What!     Don't  you  know  the  boom's  busted?" 

"Well,  no." 

"Has.  Tax  begun  it.  Too  many  cheechalkos  are  finishing 
it.  Klondyke?"  She  laughed.  "The  Klondyke's  goin'  to  hell 
down-grade  in  a  hand-car." 

Scowl  Austin  was  up,  ready,  as  usual,  to  relieve  Seymour  of 
half  the  superintending,  but  never  letting  him  off  duty  till  he 
had  seen  the  new  shift  at  work.  As  the  Boy  limped  by  with 
the  German,  Austin  turned  his  scowl  significantly  towards  the 
Colonel's  tent. 

"Good-mornin' — good-night,  I  mean,"  laughed  the  lame 
man,  just  as  if  his  tongue  had  not  run  away  with  him  the  last 
time  the  two  had  met.  It  was  not  often  that  anyone  spoke  so 
pleasantly  to  the  owner  of  No.  o.  Perhaps  the  circumstance 
weighed  with  him;  at  all  events,  he  stopped  short.  When  the 
German  had  gone  on,  "Foot's  better,"  Austin  asserted. 

"Perhaps  it  is  a  little,"  though  the  lame  man  had  no  reason 
to  think  so. 

393 


THE    MAGNETIC    NORTH 

"Lucky  you  heal  quick.     Most  people  don't  up  here — livin' 

on  the  stale  stuff  we  get  in  this  country.     Seymour  said 

anything  to  you  about  a  job?" 

"No." 

"Well,  since  you're  on  time,  you  better  come  on  the  night 
shift,  instead  o'  that  lazy  friend  o'  yours." 

"Oh,  he  ain't  lazy — been  up  hours.  An  old  acquaintance 
dropped  in;  he'll  be  down  in  a  minute." 

'Tisn't  only  his  bein'  late.     You  better  come  on  the  shift." 

"Don't  think  I  could  do  that.     What's  the  matter?" 

"Don't  say  there's  anything  very  much  the  matter  yet.  But 
he's  sick,  ain't  he?" 

"Sick?    No,  except  as  we  all  are — sick  o'  the  eternal  glare." 

The  Colonel  was  coming  slowly  down  the  hill.  Of  course,  a 
man  doesn't  look  his  best  if  he  hasn't  slept.  The  Boy  limped 
a  little  way  back  to  meet  him. 

"Anything  the  matter  with  you,  Colonel?" 

"Well,  my  Bonanza  headache  ain't  improved." 

"I  suppose  you  wouldn'  like  me  to  take  over  the  job  for  two 
or  three  days?" 

"You?  Crippled!  Look  here — "  The  Colonel  flushed  sud 
denly.  "Austin  been  sayin'  anything?" 

"Oh,  I  was  just  thinkin'  about  the  sun." 

"Well,  when  I  want  to  go  in  out  of  the  sun,  I'll  say  so." 
And,  walking  more  quickly  than  he  had  done  for  long,  he  left 
his  companion,  marched  down  to  the  creek,  and  took  his  place 
near  the  puddling-box. 

By  the  time  the  Boy  got  to  the  little  patch  of  shade,  offered 
by  the  staging,  Austin  had  turned  his  back  on  the  gang,  and 
was  going  to  speak  to  the  gateman  at  the  locks.  He  had  evi^ 
dently  left  the  Colonel  very  much  enraged  at  some  curt  com 
ment. 

"He  meant  it  for  us  all,"  the  Dublin  gentleman  was  saying 
soothingly.  By-and-by,  as  they  worked  undisturbed,  serenity 
returned.  Oh,  the  Colonel  was  all  right — even  more  chipper 
than  usual.  What  a  good-looking  fella  he  was,  with  that  clear 
skin  and  splendid  colour! 

A  couple  of  hours  later  the  Colonel  set  his  long  shovel 
against  the  nearest  of  the  poles  steadying  the  sluice,  and  went 
over  to  the  staging  for  a  drink.  He  lifted  the  can  of  weak  tea 
to  his  lips  and  took  a  long  draught,  handed  the  can  back  to  the 
Boy,  and  leant  against  the  staging.  They  talked  a  minute  or 
two  in  undertones. 

394 


PARDNERS 

A  curt  voice  behind  said:  "Looks  like  you've  got  a  deal  to 
attend  to  to-day,  beside  your  work." 

They  looked  round,  and  there  was  Austin.  As  the  Colonel 
saw  who  it  was  had  spoken,  the  clear  colour  in  the  tan  deep 
ened  ;  he  threw  back  his  shoulders,  hesitated,  and  then,  without 
a  word,  went  and  took  up  his  shovel. 

Austin  walked  on.  The  Boy  kept  looking  at  his  friend. 
What  was  the  matter  with  the  Colonel?  It  was  not  only  that 
his  eyes  were  queer — most  of  the  men  complained  of  their 
eyes,  unless  they  slept  in  cabins.  But  whether  through  sun- 
blindness  or  shaken  by  anger,  the  Colonel  was  handling  his 
shovel  uncertainly,  fumbling  at  the  gravel,  content  with  half  a 
shovelful,  and  sometimes  gauging  the  distance  to  the  box  so 
badly  that  some  of  the  pay  fell  down  again  in  the  creek.  As 
Austin  came  back  on  the  other  side  of  the  line,  he  stopped  op 
posite  to  where  the  Colonel  worked,  and  suddenly  called: 
"Seymour!" 

•  Like  so  many  on  Bonanza,  the  Superintendent  could  not 
always  sleep  when  the  time  came.  He  was  walking  about 
"showing  things"  to  a  stranger,  "a  newspaper  woman,"  it  was 
wrhispered — at  all  events,  a  lady  who,  armed  with  letters  from 
the  highest  British  officials,  had  come  to  "write  up  the  Klon- 
dyke." 

Seymour  had  left  her  at  his  employer's  call.  The  lady,  thin, 
neat,  alert,  with  crisply  curling  iron-gray  hair,  and  pleasant  but 
unmistakably  dignified  expression,  stood  waiting  for  him  a 
moment  on  the  heap  of  tailings,  then  innocently  followed  her 
guide. 

Although  Austin  lowered  his  voice,  she  drew  nearer,  pre 
pared  to  take  an  intelligent  interest  in  the  "new  riffles  up  on 
Skookum." 

When  Austin  had  first  called  Seymour,  the  Colonel  started, 
looked  up,  and  watched  the  little  scene  with  suspicion  and  grow 
ing  anger.  Seeing  Seymour's  eyes  turn  his  way,  the  Kentuck- 
ian  stopped  shovelling,  and,  on  a  sudden  impulse,  called  out: 

"See  here,  Austin:  if  you've  any  complaints  to  make,  sah, 
you'd  better  make  them  to  my  face,  sah." 

The  conversation  about  riffles  thus  further  interrupted,  a  lit 
tle  silence  fell.  The  Superintendent  stood  in  evident  fear 
of  his  employer,  but  he  hastened  to  speak  conciliatory  wrords. 

"No  complaint  at  all — one  of  the  best  hands." 

"May  be  so  when  he  ain't  sick,"  said  Austin  contemptuously. 

395 


THE    MAGNETIC   NORTH 

"Sick!"  the  Boy  called  out.  "Why,  you're  dreamin'.  He's 
our  strong  man — able  to  knock  spots  out  of  anyone  on  the 
creek,  ain't  he?"  appealing  to  the  gang. 

"I  shall  be  able  to  spare  him  from  my  part  of  the  creek  after 
to-night." 

"Do  I  understand  you  are  dismissing  me?" 

"Oh,  go  to  hell!" 

The  Colonel  dropped  his  shovel  and  clenched  his  hands. 

"Get  the  woman  out  o'  the  way,"  said  the  owner;  "there's 
goin'  to  be  trouble  with  this  fire-eating  Southerner." 

The  woman  turned  quickly.  The  Colonel,  diving  under  the 
sluice-box  for  a  plunge  at  Austin,  came  up  face  to  face  with 
her. 

"The  lady,"  said  the  Colonel,  catching  his  breath,  shaking 
with  rage,  but  pulling  off  his  hat — "the  lady  is  quite  safe,  but 
I'm  not  so  sure  about  you."  He  swerved  as  if  to  get  by. 

"Safe?  I  should  think  so!"  she  said  steadily,  comprehend 
ing  all  at  once,  and  not  unwilling  to  create  a  diversion. 

"This  is  no  place  for  a  woman,  not  if  she's  got  twenty  letters 
from  the  Gold  Commissioner." 

Misunderstanding  Austin's  jibe  at  the  official,  the  lady  stood 
her  ground,  smiling  into  the  face  of  the  excited  Kentuckian. 

"Several  people  have  asked  me  if  I  was  not  afraid  to  be  alone 
here,  and  I've  said  no.  It's  quite  true.  I've  travelled  so  much 
that  I  came  to  know  years  ago,  it's  not  among  men  like  you  a 
woman  has  anything  to  fear." 

It  was  funny  and  pathetic  to  see  the  infuriate  Colonel  clutch 
ing  at  his  grand  manner,  bowing  one  instant*  to  the  lady,  shoot 
ing  death  and  damnation  the  next  out  of  heavy  eyes  at  Austin. 
But  the  wiry  little  woman  had  the  floor,  and  meant,  for  peace 
sake,  to  keep  it  a  few  moments. 

"At  home,  in  the  streets  of  London,  I  have  been  rudely  spo 
ken  to;  I  have  been  greatly  annoyed  in  Paris;  in  New  York  I 
have  been  subject  to  humorous  impertinence;  but  in  the  great 
North-West  every  man  has  seemed  to  be  my  friend.  In  fact, 
wherever  our  English  tongue  is  spoken,"  she  wound  up  calmly, 
putting  the  great  Austin  in  his  place,  "a  woman  may  go  alone. 

Austin  seemed  absorbed  in  filling  his  pipe.  The  lady  tripped 
on  to  the  next  claim  with  a  sedate  "Good-night"  to  the  men  on 
No.  o.  She  thought  the  momentary  trouble  past,  and  never 
turned  to  see  how  the  Kentuckian,  waiting  till  she  should  be  out 
of  earshot,  came  round  in  front  of  Austin  with  a  low  question. 

396 


PARDNERS 

The  gang  watched  the  Boy  dodge  under  the  sluice  and  hobble 
hurriedly  over  the  chaos  of  stones  towards  the  owner.  Before 
he  reached  him  he  called  breathless,  but  trying  to  laugh: 

"You  think  the  Colonel's  played  out,  but,  take  my  word  for 
it,  he  ain't  a  man  to  fool  with." 

The  gang  knew  from  Austin's  sneering  look  as  he  turned  to 
strike  a  match  on  a  boulder — they  knew  as  well  as  if  they'd 
been  within  a  yard  of  him  that  Scowl  had  said  something  "pretty 
mean."  They  saw  the  Colonel  make  a  plunge,  and  they  saw 
him  reel  and  fall  among  the  stones. 

The  owner  stood  there  smoking  while  the  night  gang  knocked 
off  work  under  his  nose  and  helped  the  Boy  to  get  the  Colonel 
on  his  feet.  It  was  no  use.  Either  he  had  struck  his  head  or 
he  was  dazed — unable,  at  all  events,  to  stand.  They  lifted  him 
up  and  started  for  the  big  tent. 

Three  Indians  accosted  the  cripple  leading  the  procession. 
He  started,  and  raised  his  eyes.  "Nicholas!  Muckluck!" 
They  shook  hands,  and  all  went  on  together,  the  Boy  saying 
the  Colonel  had  a  little  sunstroke. 


The  next  day  Scowl  Austin  was  found  lying  face  down 
among  the  cotton-woods  above  the  benches  on  Skookum,  a  bul 
let-wound  in  his  back.  He  had  fainted  from  loss  of  blood, 
when  he  was  picked  up  by  the  two  Vermonters,  the  men  who 
had  twice  gone  by  No.  o  the  night  before  the  quarrel,  and  who 
had  enraged  Austin  by  stopping  an  instant  during  the  clean-up 
to  look  at  his  gold.  They  carried  him  back  to  Bonanza. 

The  Superintendent  and  several  of  the  day  gang  got  the 
wounded  man  into  bed.  He  revived  sufficiently  to  say  he  had 
not  seen  the  man  that  shot  him,  but  he  guessed  he  knew  him 
all  the  same.  Then  he  turned  on  his  side,  swore  feebly  at  the 
lawlessness  of  the  South,  and  gave  up  the  ghost. 

Not  a  man  on  the  creek  but  understood  who  Scowl  Austin 
meant. 

"Them  hot-headed  Kentuckians,  y'  know,  they'd  dowse  a 
feller's  glim  for  less  'n  that." 

"Little  doubt  the  Colonel  done  it  all  right.  Why,  his  own 
pardner  says  to  Austin's  face,  says  he,  'The  Colonel's  a  bad 
man  to  fool  with,'  and  just  then  the  big  chap  plunged  at 
Austin  like  a  mad  bull." 

But  they  were  sorry  to  a  man,  and  said  among  themselves 

397 


THE    MAGNETIC   NORTH 

that  they'd  see  he  was  defended  proper  even  if  he  hadn't  nothin' 
but  a  little  dust  in  a  jam-pot. 

The  Grand  Forks  constable  had  put  a  watch  on  the  big  tent, 
despatched  a  man  to  inform  the  Dawson  Chief  of  Police,  and 
set  himself  to  learn  the  details  of  the  quarrel.  Meanwhile  the 
utter  absence  of  life  in  the  guarded  tent  roused  suspicion.  It 
was  recalled  now  that  since  the  Indians  had  left  a  little  while 
after  the  Colonel  was  carried  home,  sixteen  hours  ago,  no  one  had 
seen  either  of  the  Southerners.  The  constable,  taking  alarm 
at  this,  left  the  crowd  at  Scowl  Austin's,  and  went  hurriedly 
across  the  meadow  to  the  new  centre  of  interest.  Just  as  he 
reached  the  tent  the  flap  was  turned  back,  and  Maudie  put  her 
head  out. 

"Hah!"  said  the  constable,  with  some  relief,  "they  both  in 
there?" 

"The  Colonel  is." 

Now,  it  was  the  Colonel  he  had  wanted  till  he  heard  he 
was  there.  As  the  woman  came  out  he  looked  in  to  make  cer 
tain.  Yes,  there  he  was,  calmly  sleeping,  with  the  gray  blanket 
of  the  screen  thrown  up  for  air.  It  didn't  look  much  like 

"Where's  the  other  feller?" 

"Gone  to  Dawson." 

"With  that  lame  leg?" 

"Went  on  horseback." 

It  had  as  grand  a  sound  as  it  would  have  in  the  States  to  say 
a  man  had  departed  in  a  glass  coach  drawn  by  six  cream- 
coloured  horses.  But  he  had  been  "in  a  hell  of  a  hurry,"  evi 
dently.  Men  were  exchanging  glances. 

"Funny  nobody  saw  him." 

"When'd  he  light  out?" 

"About  five  this  morning." 

Oh,  that  explained  it.  The  people  who  were  up  at  five 
were  abed  now.  And  the  group  round  the  tent  whispered  that 
Austin  had  done  the  unheard  of — had  gone  off  and  left  the 
night  gang  at  three  o'clock  in  the  morning.  They  had  said 
so  as  the  day  shift  turned  out. 

"But  how'd  the  young  feller  get  such  a  thing  as  a  horse?" 

"Hired  it  off  a  stranger  out  from  Dawson  yesterday," 
Maudie  answered  shortly. 

"Oh,  that  Frenchman — Count — a — Whirligig?" 

But  Maudie  was  tired  of  giving  information  and  getting 
none.  The  answer  came  from  one  in  the  group. 

398 


PARDNERS 

"Yes,  that  French  feller  came  in  with  a  couple  o'  fusst-class 
horses.  He's  camped  away  over  there  beyond  Muskeeter."  He 
pointed  dowrn  Bonanza. 

"P'raps  you  won't  mind  just  mentioning"  said  Maudie  with 
growing  irritation,  "why  you're  makin'  yourself  so  busy  about 
my  friends?"  (Only  strong  resentment  could  have  induced  the 
plural.) 

When  she  heard  what  had  happened  and  what  was  sus 
pected  she  uttered  a  contemptuous  "Tschah!"  and  made  for 
the  tent.  The  constable  followed.  She  wheeled  fiercely  round. 

"The  man  in  there  hasn't  been  out  o'  this  tent  since  he  was 
carried  up  from  the  creek  last  night.  I  can  swear  to  it." 

"Can  you  swear  the  other  was  here  all  the  time?" 

No  answer. 

"Did  he  say  what  he  went  to  Dawson  for?" 

"The  doctor." 

,  One  or  two  laughed.     "Who's  sick  enough  to  send  for  a 
Dawson  doctor?" 

"So  you  think  he's  gone  for  a " 

"I  know  he  is." 

"And  do  you  know  what  it  costs  to  have  a  doctor  come  all 
the  way  out  here?" 

"Yes,  beasts!  won't  budge  till  you've  handed  over  five  hun 
dred  dollars.  Skunks!" 

"Did  your  friend  mention  how  he  meant  to  raise  the  dust?" 

"He's  got  it,"  she  said  curtly. 

"Why,  he  was  livin'  off  his  pardner.     Hadn't  a  red  cent." 

"She's  shieldin'  him,"  the  men  about  the  door  agreed. 

"Lord !  he  done  it  well — got  away  with  five  hundred  and  a 
horse!" 

"He  had  words  with  Austin,  himself,  the  night  o'  the  clean 
up.  Sassed  Scowl  Austin!  Right  quiet,  but,  oh  my!  Told 
him  to  his  face  his  gold  was  dirty,  and  washed  it  off  his  hands 

with  a  look Gawd !  you  could  see  Austin  was  mad  clear 

through,  from  his  shirt-buttons  to  his  spine.     You  bet  Scowl 
said  something  back  that  got  the  young  feller's  monkey  up." 

They  all  agreed  that  the  only  wonder  was  that  Austin  had 
lived  as  long — "On  the  other  side  o'  the  line — Gee!" 


•if  *•  *  1£  *•  *•  If! 

That  evening  the  Boy,  riding  hard,  came  into  camp  wi 
doctor,  followed  discreetly  in  the  rear  by  an  N.  W.  M. 


with 

P., 
399 


THE    MAGNETIC    NORTH 

really  mounted  this  time.  It  had  occurred  to  the  Boy  that 
people  looked  at  him  hard,  and  when  he  saw  the  groups  gath 
ered  about  the  tent  his  heart  contracted  sharply.  Had  the 
Colonel  died?  He  flung  himself  off  the  horse,  winced  as  his 
foot  cried  out,  told  Joey  Bludsoe  to  look  after  both  beasts  a 
minute,  and  led  the  Dawson  doctor  towards  the  tent. 

The  constable  followed. 

Maudie,  at  the  door,  looked  at  her  old  enemy  queerly,  and 
just  as,  without  greeting,  he  pushed  by,  "S'pose  you've  heard 
Scowl  Austin's  dead  ?"  she  said  in  a  low  voice. 

"No!  Dead,  eh?  Well,  there's  one  rattlesnake  less  in  the 
woods." 

The  constable  stopped  him  with  a  touch  on  the  shoulder: 
"We  have  a  warrant  for  you." 

The  Colonel  lifted  his  head  and  stared  about,  in  a  dazed 
way,  as  the  Boy  stopped  short  and  stammered,  "Warr — what 
for?" 

"For  the  murder  of  Scoville " 

"Look  here,"  he  whispered:  "I — I  don't  know  what  you 
mean,  but  I'll  go  along  with  you,  of  course,  only  don't  talk 

before  this  man.     He's  sick "     He  beckoned  the  doctor. 

"This  is  the  man  I  brought  you  to  see."  Then  he  turned  his 
back  on  the  \vide,  horrified  eyes  of  his  friend,  saying,  "Back 
in  a  minute,  Kentucky."  Outside:  "Give  me  a  second,  boys, 
will  you?"  he  said  to  the  N.  W.  M.  P.'s,  "just  till  I  hear  what 
that  doctor  fella  says  about  my  pardner." 

He  stood  there  with  the  Buckeyes,  the  police,  and  the  vari 
ous  day  gangs  that  were  too  excited  to  go  to  bed.  And  he 
asked  them  where  Austin  was  found,  and  other  details  of  the 
murder,  wearily  conscious  that  the  friendliest  there  felt  sure 
that  the  man  who  questioned  could  best  fill  in  the  gaps  in  the 
story.  When  the  doctor  came  out,  Maudie  at  his  heels  firing  off 
quick  questions,  the  Boy  hobbled  forward. 

"Well?" 

"Temperature  a  hundred  and  four,"  said  the  Dawson  doc 
tor. 

"Oh,  is — is  that  much  or  little?" 

"Well,  it's  more  than  most  of  us  go  in  for." 

"Can  you  tell  what's  the  matter  with  him?" 

"Oh,  typhoid,  of  course." 

The  Boy  pulled  his  hat  over  his  eyes. 

"Guess  you  won't  mind  my  stayin'  now?"  said  Maudie 'at 
his  elbow,  speaking  low. 

400 


PARDNERS 

He  looked  up.  "You  goin'  to  take  care  of  him?  Good 
care?"  he  asked  harshly. 

But  Maudie  seemed  not  to  mind.  The  tears  went  down  her 
cheeks,  as,  with  never  a  word,  she  nodded,  and  turned  towards 
the  tent. 

"Say,"  he  hobbled  after  her,  "that  doctor's  all  right — only 
wanted  fifty."  He  laid  four  hundred-dollar  bills  in  her  hand. 
She  seemed  about  to  speak,  when  he  interrupted  hoarsely,  "And 
look  here:  pull  the  Colonel  through,  Maudie — pull  him 
through!" 

"I'll  do  my  darnedest." 

He  held  out  his  hand.  He  had  never  given  it  to  her  before, 
and  he  forgot  that  few  people  would  care  now  to  take  it.  But 
she  gave  him  hers  with  no  grudging.  Then,  on  a  sudden  im 
pulse,  "You  ain't  takin'  him  to  Dawson  to-night?"  she  said  to 
the  constable. 

He  nodded. 

"Why,  he's  done  the  trip  twice  already." 

"I  can  do  it  again  well  enough." 

"Then  you  got  to  wait  a  minute."  She  spoke  to  the  con 
stable  as  if  she  had  been  Captain  Constantine  himself.  "Better 
just  go  in  and  see  the  Colonel,"  she  said  to  the  Boy.  "He's 
been  askin'  for  you." 

"N-no,  Maudie;  I  can  go  to  Dawson  all  right,  but  I  don't 
feel  up  to  goin'  in  there  again." 

"You'll  be  sorry  if  you  don't.  And  then  he  knew  what  a 
temperature  at  a  hundred  and  four  foreboded. 

He  went  back  into  the  tent,  dreading  to  face  the  Colonel 
more  than  he  had  ever  dreaded  anything  in  his  life. 

But  the  sick  man  lay,  looking  out  drowsily,  peacefully, 
through  half-shut  eyes,  not  greatly  concerned,  one  would  say, 
about  anything.  The  Boy  went  over  and  stood  under  the 
gray  blanket  canopy,  looking  down  with  a  choking  sensation 
that  delayed  his  question:  "How  you  feelin'  now,  Kentucky?" 

"All  right." 

"Why,  that's  good  news.  Then  you — you  won't  mind  my 
goin'  off  to — to — do  a  little  prospectin' ?" 

The  sick  man  frowned :  "You  stay  right  where  you  are. 
There's  plenty  in  that  jampot." 

"Yes,  yes!  jampot's  fillin'  up  fine." 

"Besides,"  the  low  voice  wavered  on,  "didn't  we  agree  we'd 
learned  the  lesson  o'  the  North?" 

401 


THE    MAGNETIC    NORTH 

"The  lesson  o'  the  North?"  repeated  the  other  with  filling 
eyes. 

"Yes,  sah.  A  man  alone's  a  man  lost.  We  got  to  stick  to 
gether,  Boy."  The  eyelids  fell  heavily. 

"Yes,  yes,  Colonel."  He  pressed  the  big  hand.  His  mouth 
made  the  motion,  not  the  sound,  "Good-bye,  pardner." 


402 


CHAPTER   XXII 

THE   GOING    HOME 

"  Despair  lies  down  and  grovels,  grapples  not 
With  evil,  casts  the  burden  of  its  lot. 
This  Age  climbs  earth. 

To  challenge  heaven. 

— Not  less 
The  lower  deeps.     It  laughs  at  Happiness." 

GEORGE  MEREDITH. 

EVERYBODY  on  Bonanza  knew  that  the  Colonel  had 
left  off  struggling  to  get  out  of  his  bed  to  go  to  work, 
had  left  off  calling  for  his  pardner.  Quite  in  his  right 
senses  again,  he  could  take  in  Maudie's  explanation  that  the 
Boy  was  gone  to  Dawson,  probably  to  get  something  for  the 
Colonel  to  eat.  For  the  Doctor  was  a  crank  and  wouldn't  let 
the  sick  man  have  his  beans  and  bacon,  forbade  him  even  such 
a  delicacy  as  fresh  pork,  though  the  Buckeyes  nobly  offered  to 
slaughter  one  of  their  newly-acquired  pigs,  the  first  that  ever 
rooted  in  Bonanza  refuse,  and  more  a  terror  to  the  passing 
Indian  than  any  bear  or  wolf. 

"But  the  Boy's  a  long  time,"  the  Colonel  would  say  wist 
fully. 

Before  this  quieter  phase  set  in,  Maudie  had  sent  into  Daw- 
son  for  Potts,  O'Flynn  and  Mac,  that  they  might  distract  the 
Colonel's  mind  from  the  pardner  she  knew  could  not  return. 
But  O'Flynn,  having  married  the  girl  at  the  Moosehorn  Cafe, 
had  excuse  of  ancient  validity  for  not  coming;  Potts  was  busy 
breaking  the  faro  bank,  and  Mac  was  waiting  till  an  overdue 
Lower  River  steamer  should  arrive. 

Nicholas  of  Pymeut  had  gone  back  as  pilot  of  the  We  are, 
but  Princess  Muckluck  was  still  about,  now  with  Skookum 
Bill,  son  of  the  local  chief,  now  alone,  trudging  up  and  down 
Bonanza  like  one  looking  for  something  lost.  The  Colonel 
heard  her  voice  outside  the  tent  and  had  her  in. 

403 


THE    MAGNETIC    NORTH 

"You  goin'  to  marry  Skookum  Bill,  as  they  say?" 

Muckluck  only  laughed,  but  the  Indian  hung  about  waiting 
the  Princess's  pleasure. 

"When  your  pardner  come  back?"  she  would  indiscreetly 
ask  the  Colonel.  "Why  he  goes  to  Dawson?"  And  every  few 
hours  she  would  return:  "Why  he  stay  so  long?" 

At  last  Maudie  took  her  outside  and  told  her. 

Muckluck  gaped,  sat  down  a  minute,  and  rocked  her  body 
back  and  forth  with  hidden  face,  got  up  and  called  sharply: 
"Skookum!" 

They  took  the  trail  for  town.  Potts  said,  when  he  passed 
them,  they  were  going  as  if  the  devil  were  at  their  heels — 
wouldn't  even  stop  to  say  how  the  Colonel  was.  So  Potts  had 
come  to  see  for  himself — and  to  bring  the  Colonel  some  letters 
just  arrived. 

Mac  was  close  behind  .  .  .  but  the  Boy?  No — no.  They 
wouldn't  let  anybody  see  him;  and  Potts  shook  his  head. 

"Well,  you  can  come  in,"  said  Maudie,  "if  you  keep  your 
head  shut  about  the  Boy." 

The  Colonel  was  lying  flat,  with  that  unfaltering  ceiling- 
gaze  of  the  sick.  Now  his  vision  dropped  to  the  level  of  faces 
at  the  door.  "Hello!"  But  as  they  advanced  he  looked  behind 
them  anxiously.  Only  Mac — no,  Kaviak  at  his  heels!  and  the 
sick  man's  disappointment  lightened  to  a  smile.  He  would  have 
held  out  a  hand,  but  Maudie  stopped  him.  She  took  the  little 
fellow's  fingers  and  laid  them  on  the  Colonel's. 

"Now  sit  down  and  be  quiet,"  she  said  nervously. 

Potts  and  Mac  obeyed,  but  Kaviak  had  fastened  his  fine 
little  hand  on  the  weak  one,  and  anchored  so,  stared  about  tak 
ing  his  bearings. 

"How  did  you  get  to  the  Klondyke,  Kaviak?"  said  the 
Colonel  in  a  thin,  breathy  voice. 

"Came  up  writh  Sister  Winifred,"  Farva  answered  for  him. 
"She  was  sent  for  to  help  with  the  epidemic.  Dyin'  like  flies  in 
Dawson — h'm — ahem!"  (Apologetic  glance  at  Maudie.) 
"Sister  Winifred  promised  to  keep  Kaviak  with  her.  Woman 
of  her  word." 

"Well,  what  you  think  o'  Dawson?"  the  low  voice  asked. 

Kaviak  understood  the  look  at  least,  and  smiled  back,  grew 
suddenly  grave,  intent,  looked  sharply  round,  loosed  his  hold  of 
the  Colonel,  bent  down,  and  retired  behind  the  bed.  That 
was  where  Nig  was.  Their  foregathering  added  nothing  to 

404 


THE    GOING    HOME 

the  tranquility  of  the  occasion,  and  both  were  driven  forth  by 
Maudie. 

Potts  read  the  Colonel  his  letters,  and  helped  him  to  sign  a 
couple  of  cheques.  The  "Louisville  instructions"  had  come 
through  at  last. 

After  that  the  Colonel  slept,  and  when  he  woke  it  was  only 
to  wander  away  into  that  world  where  Maudie  was  lost  utterly, 
and  where  the  Colonel  was  at  home.  There  was  chastening  in 
such  hours  for  Maudie  of  Minook.  "Now  he's  found  the 
Other  One,"  she  would  say  to  herself — "the  One  he  was  look 
ing  for." 

That  same  evening,  as  they  sat  in  the  tent  in  an  interval  of 
relief  from  the  Colonel's  muttering  monotone,  they  heard  Nig 
making  some  sort  of  unusual  manifestation  outside;  heard  the 
grunting  of  those  pioneer  pigs;  heard  sounds  of  a  whispered 
"Sh!  Kaviak.  Shut  up,  Nig!"  Then  a  low,  tuneless  crooning: 

*'  Wen  yo'  see  a  pig  a-goin'  along 

Widder  straw  in  de  sider  'is  mouf, 
It'll  be  er  tuhble  wintuh, 

En  yo'  bettah  move  down  Souf." 

"Why,  the  Boy's  back !"  said  the  Colonel  suddenly  in  a  clear, 
collected  voice. 

Maudie  had  jumped  up,  but  the  Boy  put  his  head  in  the  tent, 
smiling,  and  calling  out: 

"They  told  me  he  was  getting  on  all  right,  but  I  just  thought 
maybe  he  wyas  asleep."  He  came  in  and  bent  over  his  pardner. 
"Hello,  everybody!  Why,  you  got  it  so  fine  and  dark  in  here, 
I  can  hardly  see  how  well  you're  lookin',  Colonel !"  And  he 
dropped  into  the  nurse's  place  by  the  bedside. 

"Maudie's  lined  the  tent  with  black  drill,"  said  the  Colonel. 
"You  brought  home  anything  to  eat?" 

"Well,  no "  (Maudie  telegraphed)  ;  "found  it  all  I  could 

do  to  bring  myself  back." 

"Oh,  well,  that's  the  main  thing,"  said  the  Colonel,  battling 
with  disappointment.  Pricked  by  some  quickened  memory  of 
the  Boy's  last  home-coming:  "I've  had  pretty  queer  dreams 
about  you:  been  givin'  Maudie  the  meanest  kind  of  a  time." 

"Don't  go  gassin',  Colonel,"  admonished  the  nurse. 

"It's  pretty  tough,  /  can  tell  you,"  he  said  irritably,  "to  be 
as  weak  as  a  day-old  baby,  and  to  have  to  let  other  people " 

"Mustn't  talk!"  ordered  Mac. 

405 


THE    MAGNETIC    NORTH 

The  Colonel  raised  his  head  with  sudden  anger.  It  did  not 
mend  matters  that  Maudie  was  there  to  hold  him  down  before 
a  lot  of  men. 

"You  go  to  Halifax,"  said  the  Boy  to  Mac,  blustering  a  trifle. 
"The  Colonel  may  stand  a  little  orderin'  about  from  Maudie — 
don't  blame  him  m'self.  But  Kentucky  ain't  going  to  be  bossed 
by  any  of  us." 

The  Colonel  lay  quite  still  again,  and  when  he  spoke  it  was 
quietly  enough. 

"Reckon  I'm  in  the  kind  of  a  fix  when  a  man's  got  to  take 
orders." 

"Foolishness!  Don't  let  him  jolly  you,  boys.  The  Colonel's 
always  sayin'  he  ain't  a  soldier,  but  I  reckon  you  better  look  out 
how  you  rile  Kentucky!" 

The  sick  man  ignored  the  trifling.  "The  worst  of  it  is  bein' 
so  useless." 

"Useless!  You  just  wait  till  you  see  what  a  lot  o'  use  we 
mean  to  make  of  you.  No  crawlin'  out  of  it  like  that." 

"It's  quite  true,"  said  Mac  harshly;  "we  all  kind  of  look  to 
you  still." 

"Course  we  do!"  The  Boy  turned  to  the  others.  "The 
O'Flynns  comin'  all  the  way  out  from  Dawson  to-morrow  to 
get  Kentucky's  opinion  on  a  big  scheme  o'  theirs.  Did  you  ever 
hear  what  that  long-headed  Lincoln  said  when  the  Civil  War 
broke  out?  'I  would  like  to  have  God  on  my  side,  but  I  must 
have  Kentucky.'  " 

"I've  been  so  out  o'  my  head,  I  thought  you  were  arrested." 

"No  'out  of  your  head'  about  it — was  arrested.  They 
thought  I'd  cleared  Scowl  Austin  off  the  earth." 

"Do  they  know  who  did  ?"  Potts  and  Maudie  asked  in  a 
breath. 

"That  Klondyke  Indian  that's  sweet  on  Princess  Muckluck." 

"What  had  Austin  done  to  him?" 

"Nothin'.  Reckon  Skookum  Bill  was  about  the  only  man  on 
Bonanza  who  had  no  objection  to  the  owner  of  o.  Said  so  in 
Court." 

"What  did  he  kill  him  for?" 

"Well,"  said  the  Boy,  "it's  just  one  o'  those  topsy-turvy 
things  that  happen  up  here.  You  saw  that  Indian  that  came  in 
with  Nicholas?  Some  years  ago  he  killed  a  drunken  white  man 
who  wras  after  him  writh  a  knife.  There  was  no  means  of  tryin' 
the  Indian  where  the  thing  happened,  so  he  was  taken  outside. 

406 


THE    GOING    HOME 

The  Court  found  he'd  done  the  killin'  in  self-defence,  and  sent 
him  back.  Well,  sir,  that  native  had  the  time  of  his  life  bein' 
tried  for  murder.  He'd  travelled  on  a  railroad,  seen  a  white 
man's  city,  lived  like  a  lord,  and  came  home  to  be  the  most 
famous  man  of  his  tribe.  Got  a  taste  for  travel,  too.  Comes 
to  the  Klondyke,  and  his  fame  fires  Skookum  Bill.  All  you 
got  to  do  is  to  kill  one  o'  these  white  men,  and  they  take  you 
and  show  you  all  the  wonders  o'  the  earth.  So  he  puts  a  bullet 
into  Austin." 

"Why  didn't  he  own  up,  then,  and  get  his  reward?" 

"Muckluck  knew  better — made  him  hold  his  tongue  about 
it." 

"And  then  made  him  own  up  when  she  saw " 

The  boy  nodded. 

"What's  goin'  to  happen?" 

"Oh,  he'll  swing  to-morrow  instead  o'  me.  By  the  way, 
Colonel,  a  fella  hunted  me  up  this  mornin'  who'd  been  to 
Minook.  Looked  good  to  him.  I've  sold  out  Idaho  Bar." 

"  'Nough  to  buy  back  your  Orange  Grove?" 

He  shook  his  head.  '  'Nough  to  pay  my  debts  and  start  over 
again." 

When  the  Dawson  doctor  left  that  night  Maudie,  as  usual, 
followed  him  out.  They  waited  a  long  time  for  her  to  come 
back. 

"Perhaps  she's  gone  to  her  own  tent;"  and  the  Boy  went  to 
see. 

He  found  her  where  the  Colonel  used  to  go  to  smoke,  sit 
ting,  staring  out  to  nowhere. 

As  the  boy  looked  closer  he  saw  she  had  been  crying,  for 
even  in  the  midst  of  honest  service  Maudie,  like  many  a  fine 
lady  before  her,  could  not  forego  the  use  of  cosmetic.  Her 
cheeks  were  streaked  and  stained. 

"Five  dollars  a  box  here,  too,"  she  said  mechanically,  as  she 
wiped  some  of  the  rouge  off  with  a  handkerchief.  Her  hand 
shook. 

"What's  the  matter?" 

"It's  all  up,"  she  answered. 

"Not  with  him?"     He  motioned  towards  the  tent. 

She  nodded. 

"Doctor  says  so?" 

" and  I  knew  it  before,  only  I  wouldn't  believe  it." 

She  had  spoken  with  little  agitation,  but  now  she  flung  her 

407 


THE    MAGNETIC    NORTH 

arms  out  with  a  sudden  anguish  that  oddly  took  the  air  of  toss 
ing  into  space  Bonanza  and  its  treasure.  It  was  the  motion  of 
one  who  renounces  the  thing  that  means  the  most — a  final  fling 
in  the  face  of  the  gods.  The  Boy  stood  quite  still,  submitting 
his  heart  to  that  first  quick  rending  and  tearing  asunder  which 
is  only  the  initial  agony  of  parting. 

"How  soon?"  he  said,  without  raising  his  eyes. 

"Oh,  he  holds  on — it  may  be  a  day  or  two." 

The  Boy  walked  slowly  away  towards  the  ridge  of  the  low 
hill.  Maudie  turned  and  watched  him.  On  the  top  of  the 
divide  he  stopped,  looking  over.  Whatever  it  was  he  saw  off 
there,  he  could  not  meet  it  yet.  He  flung  himself  down  with 
his  face  in  the  fire-weed,  and  lay  there  all  night  long. 

Kaviak  was  sent  after  him  in  the  morning,  but  only  to  say, 
"Breakfast,  Maudie's  tent." 

The  Boy  saw  that  Mac  and  Potts  knew.  For  the  first  time 
the  Big  Chimney  men  felt  a  barrier  between  them  and  that 
one  who  had  been  the  common  bond,  keeping  the  incongruous 
allied  and  friendly.  Only  Nig  ran  in  and  out,  unchilled  by  the 
imminence  of  the  Colonel's  withdrawal  from  his  kind. 

Towards  noon  the  O'Flynns  came  up  the  creek,  and  were 
stopped  near  the  tent  by  the  others.  They  all  stood  talking 
low  till  a  noise  of  scuffling  broke  the  silence  within.  They 
drew  nearer,  and  heard  the  Colonel  telling  Maudie  not  to  turn 
out  Nig  and  Kaviak. 

"I  like  seein'  my  friends.    Where's  the  Boy?" 

So  they  went  in. 

Did  he  know?  He  must  know,  or  he  would  have  asked 
O'Flynn  what  the  devil  made  him  look  like  that!  All  he  said 
was:  "Hello!  How  do  you  do,  madam?"  and  he  made  a  weak 
motion  of  one  hand  towards  Mrs.  O'Flynn  to  do  duty  for  that 
splendid  bow  of  his.  Then,  as  no  one  spoke,  "You're  too  late, 
O'Flynn." 

"Too  late?]' 

"Had  a  job  in  your  line.  .  .  ."  Then  suddenly: 
"Maudie's  worth  the  whole  lot  of  you." 

They  knew  it  was  his  way  of  saying  "She's  told  me."  They 
all  sat  and  looked  at  the  floor.  Nothing  happened  for  a  long 
time.  At  last:  "Well,  you  all  know  what  my  next  move  is; 
what's  yours  ?" 

There  was  another  silence,  but  not  nearly  so  long. 

"What  prospects,  pardners?"  he  repeated. 

408 


THE    GOING    HOME 

The  Boy  looked  at  Maudie.  She  made  a  little  gesture  of 
"I've  done  all  the  fightin'  I'm  good  for."  The  Colonel's  eyes, 
clear  again  and  tranquil,  travelled  from  face  to  face. 

O'Flynn  cleared  his  throat,  but  it  was  Mac  who  spoke. 

"Yes — a — we  would  like  to  hold  a  last — hold  a  counsel  or 
war.  We've  always  kind  o'  followed  your  notions — at  least" 
— veracity  pared  down  the  compliment — "at  least,  you  can't 
say  but  what  we've  always  listened  to  you." 

"Yes,  you  might  just — a — start  us  as  well  as  you  can,"  says 
Potts. 

The  Colonel  smiled  a  little.  Each  man  still  "starting" — for 
ever  starting  for  somewhere  or  something,  until  he  should  come 
to  this  place  where  the  Colonel  was.  Even  he,  why,  he  was 
"starting"  too.  For  him  this  was  no  end  other  than  a  chap 
ter's  ending.  But  these  men  he  had  lived  and  suffered  with, 
they  all  wanted  to  talk  the  next  move  over — not  his,  theirs — 
all  except  the  Boy,  it  seemed. 

Mac  was  in  the  act  of  changing  his  place  to  be  nearer  the 
Colonel,  when  Potts  adroitly  forestalled  him.  The  others  drew 
off  a  little  and  made  desultory  talk,  while  Potts  in  an  under 
tone  told  how  he'd  had  a  run  of  bad  luck.  No  doubt  it  would 
turn,  but  if  ever  he  got  enough  again  to  pay  his  passage  home, 
he'd  put  it  in  the  bank  and  never  risk  it. 

"I  swear  I  wouldn't!  I've  got  to  go  out  in  the  fall — goin' 
to  get  myself  married  Christma^;  and,  if  she's  willing,  we'll 
come  up  here  on  the  first  boat  in  the  spring — with  backing  this 
time." 

He  showed  a  picture.     The  Colonel  studied  it. 

"I  believe  she'll  come,"  he  said. 

And  Potts  was  so  far  from  clairvoyance  that  he  laughed, 
awkwardly  flattered;  then  anxiously:  "Wish  I  was  sure  o'  my 
passage  money." 

When  Potts,  before  he  meant  to,  had  yielded  place  to 
O'Flynn,  the  Colonel  was  sworn  to  secrecy,  and  listened  to 
excited  whispers  of  gold  in  the  sand  off  yonder  on  the  coast  of 
the  Behring  Sea.  The  world  in  general  wouldn't  know  the 
authenticity  of  the  new  strike  till  next  season.  He  and  Mrs. 
O'Flynn  would  take  the  first  boat  sailing  out  of  San  Francisco 
in  the  spring. 

"Oh,  you're  going  outside  too?" 

"In  the  fahll — yes,  yes.  Ye  see,  I  ain't  like  the  rest.  I've 
got  Mrs.  O'Flynn  to  consider.  Dawson's  great,  but  it  ain't 
the  place  to  start  a  famully." 

409 


THE    MAGNETIC    NORTH 

"Where  you  goin',  Mac?"  said  the  Colonel  to  the  irate  one, 
who  was  making  for  the  door.  "I  want  a  little  talk  with  you." 

Mac  turned  back,  and  consented  to  express  his  opinion  of  the 
money  there  was  to  be  made  out  of  tailings  by  means  of  a  new 
hydraulic  process.  He  was  going  to  lend  Kaviak  to  Sister 
Winifred  again  on  the  old  terms.  She'd  take  him  along  when 
she  returned  to  Holy  Cross,  and  Mac  would  go  outside,  raise 
a  little  capital,  return,  and  make  a  fortune.  For  the  moment 
he  was  broke — hadn't  even  passage  money.  Did  the  Colonel 
think  he  could 

The  Colonel  seemed  absorbed  in  that  eternal  interrogation  of 
the  tent-top. 

"Mine,  you  know" — Mac  drew  nearer  still,  and  went  on  in 
the  lowered  voice — "mine's  a  special  case.  A  man's  bound  to 
do  all  he  can  for  his  boys." 

"I  didn't  know  you  had  boys." 

Mac  jerked  "Yes"  with  his  square  head.  "Bobbie's  goin'  on 
six  now." 

"The  others  older?" 

"Others?"  Mac  stared  an  instant.  "Oh,  there's  only  one 
more."  He  grinned  with  embarrassment,  and  hitched  his  head 
towards  Kaviak. 

"I  guess  you've  jawed  enough,"  said  Maudie,  leaving  the 
others  and  coming  to  the  foot  of  the  bed. 

"And  Maudie's  goin'  back,  too,"  said  the  sick  man. 

She  nodded. 

"And  you're  never  goin'  to  leave  her  again?" 

"No." 

"Maudie's  a  little  bit  of  All  Right,"  said  the  patient.  The 
Big  Chimney  men  assented,  but  with  sudden  misgiving. 

"What  was  that  job  ye  said  ye  were  wantin'  me  forr?" 

"Oh,  Maudie's  got  a  friend  of  hers  to  fix  it  up." 

"Fix  what  up?"  demanded  Potts. 

"Little  postscript  to  my  will." 

Mac  jerked  his  head  at  the  nurse.  With  that  clear  sight  of 
dying  eyes  the  Colonel  understood.  A  meaner  spirit  would 
have  been  galled  at  the  part  those  "Louisville  Instructions"  had 
been  playing,  but  cheap  cynicism  was  not  in  the  Colonel's  line. 
He  knew  the  awful  pinch  of  life  up  here,  and  he  thought  no 
less  of  his  comrades  for  asking  that  last  service  of  getting  them 
home.  But  it  was  the  day  of  the  final  "clean-up"  for  the  Colo 
nel;  he  must  not  leave  misapprehension  behind. 

410 


THE    GOING    HOME 

"I  wanted  Maudie  to  have  my  Minook  claim " 

"Got  a  Minook  claim  o'  my  own." 

"So  I've  left  it  to  be  divided— 

They  all  looked  up. 

"One-half  to  go  to  a  little  girl  in  'Frisco,  and  the  other  half — 
well,  I've  left  the  other  half  to  Kaviak.  Strikes  me  he  ought  to 
have  a  little  piece  o'  the  North." 

"Y-yes!" 

"0/^yes!" 

"Good  idea!" 

*  Mac  thought  he'd  go  over  to  the  other  tent  and  cook  some 
dinner.  There  was  a  general  movement.  As  they  were  going 
out: 

"Boy!" 

"Yes?"  He  came  back,  Nig  followed,  and  the  two  stood  by 
the  camp-bed  waiting  their  Colonel's  orders. 

"Don't  you  go  wastin'  any  more  time  huntin'  gold-mines." 

"I  don't  mean  to." 

"Go  back  to  your  owrn  work;  go  back  to  your  own  people." 

The  Boy  listened  and  looked  away. 

"It's  good  to  go  pioneering,  but  it's  good  to  go  home. 
Oh-h— !"  the  face  on  the  pillow  was  convulsed  for  that  swift 
passing  moment— "best  of  all  to  go  home.  And  if  you  leave 
your  home  too  long,  your  home  leaves  you." 

"Home  doesn't  seem  so  important  as  it  did  when  I  came  up 
here." 

The  Colonel  fastened  one  hand  feverishly  on  his  pardner's 
arm. 

"I've  been  afraid  of  that.  It's  magic;  break  away.  Promise 
me  you'll  go  back  and  stay.  Lord,  Lord !"  he  laughed  feebly, 
"to  think  a  fella  should  have  to  be  urged  to  leave  the  North 
alone.  Wonderful  place,  but  there's  Black  Magic  in  it.  Or 
who'd  ever  come — who'd  ever  stay?" 

He  looked  anxiously  into  the  Boy's  set  face. 

"I'm  not  saying  the  time  was  wasted,"  he  went  on;  "I  reckon 
it  was  a  good  thing  you  came." 

"Yes,  it  was  a  good  thing  I  came." 

"You've  learned  a  thing  or  two." 

"Several." 

"Specially  on  the  Long  Trail." 

"Most  of  all  on  the  Long  Trail." 

The  Colonel  shut  his  eyes.  Maudie  came  and  held  a  cup  to 
his  lips. 

411 


THE    MAGNETIC    NORTH 

"Thank  you.  I  begin  to  feel  a  little  foggy.  What  was  it  we 
learned  on  the  Trail,  pardner?"  But  the  Boy  had  turned 
away.  "Wasn't  it — didn't  we  learn  how  near  a  tolerable  de 
cent  man  is  to  bein'  a  villain?" 

"We  learned  that  a  man  can't  be  quite  a  brute  as  long  as  he 
sticks  to  another  man." 

"Oh,  was  that  it?" 


In  the  night  Maudie  went  away  to  sleep.    The  Boy  watched. 

"Do  you  know  what  I'm  thinking  about?"  the  sick  man  said 
suddenly. 

"About — that  lady  down  at  home?" 

"Guess  again." 

"About— those  fellas  at  Holy  Cross?" 

"No,  I  never  was  as  taken  up  with  the  Jesuits  as  you  were. 
No,  Sah,  I'm  thinkin'  about  the  Czar."  (Poor  old  Colonel!  he 
was  wandering  again.)  "Did  I  ever  tell  you  I  saw  him  once?" 

"No." 

"Did — had  a  good  look  at  him.  Knew  a  fella  in  Petersburg, 
too,  that —  He  rested  a  moment.  "That  Czar's  all  right. 

Only  he  sends  the  wrong  people  to  Siberia.  Ought  to  go  him 
self,  and  take  his  Ministers,  for  a  winter  on  the  Trail."  On 
his  face  suddenly  the  old  half-smiling,  half-shrewd  look.  "But, 
Lord  bless  you!  'tisn't  only  the  Czar.  We  all  have  times  o' 
thinkin'  we're  some  punkins.  Specially  Kentuckians.  I  reckon 
most  men  have  their  days  when  they're  twelve  feet  high,  and 
wouldn't  stoop  to  say  'Thank  ye'  to  a  King.  Let  'em  go  on 
the  Winter  Trail." 

"Yes,"  agreed  the  Boy,  "they'd  find  out—       And  he  stopped. 

"Plenty  o'  use  for  Head  Men,  though."  The  faint  voice 
rang  with  an  echo  of  the  old  authority.  "No  foolishness,  but 
just  plain:  'I'm  the  one  that's  doin'  the  leadin' — like  Nig  here 
— and  it's  my  business  to  lick  the  hind  dog  if  he  shirks.'  ':  He 
held  out  his  hand  and  closed  it  over  his  friend's.  "I  was  Boss 
o'  the  Big  Chimney,  Boy,  but  you  were  Boss  o'  the  Trail." 


The  Colonel  was  buried  in  the  old  moose  pasture,  with  peo 
ple  standing  by  who  knew  that  the  world  had  worn  a  friendlier 
face  because  he  had  been  in  it.  That  much  was  clear,  even 
before  it  was  found  that  he  had  left  to  each  of  the  Big  Chimney 

412 


THE    GOING    HOME 

men  five  hundred  dollars,  not  to  be  drawn  except  for  the  pur 
pose  of  going  home. 

They  thought  it  was  the  sense  of  that  security  that  made 
them  put  off  the  day.  They  would  "play  the  game  up  to  the 
last  moment,  and  see " 

September's  end  brought  no  great  change  in  fortune,  but 
a  change  withal  of  deep  significance.  The  ice  had  begun  to 
run  in  the  Yukon.  No  man  needed  telling  it  would  "be  a 
tuhble  wintah,  and  dey'd  better  move  down  Souf."  All  the 
late  boats  by  both  routes  had  been  packed.  Those  men  who 
had  failed,  and  yet,  most  tenacious,  were  hanging  on  for  some 
last  lucky  turn  of  the  wheel,  knew  the  risk  they  ran.  And 
now  to-day  the  final  boat  of  the  year  was  going  down  the  long 
way  to  the  Behring  Sea,  and  by  the  Canadian  route,  open  a 
little  longer,  the  Big  Chimney  men,  by  grace  of  that  one  left 
behind,  would  be  on  the  last  ship  to  shoot  the  rapids  in  '98. 

Not  only  to  the  thousands  who  were  going,  to  those  who 
stayed  behind  there  was  something  in  the  leaving  of  the  last 
boat — something  that  knocked  upon  the  heart.  They,  too, 
could  still  go  home.  They  gathered  at  the  docks  and  told  one 
another  they  wouldn't  leave  Dawson  for  fifty  thousand  dollars, 
then  looked  at  the  "failures"  with  home-sick  eyes,  remember 
ing  those  months  before  the  luckiest  Klondyker  could  hear  from 
the  world  outside.  Between  now  and  then,  what  would  have 
come  to  pass  up  here,  and  what  down  there  below! 

The  Boy  had  got  a  place  for  Muckluck  in  the  A.  C.  Store. 
She  was  handy  at  repairing  and  working  in  fur,  and  said  she 
was  "all  right"  on  this  bright  autumn  morning  when  the  Boy 
went  in  to  say  good-bye.  With  a  white  woman  and  an  Indian 
boy,  in  a  little  room  overlooking  the  water-front,  Muckluck 
was  working  in  the  intervals  of  watching  the  crowds  on  the 
wharf.  Eyes  more  experienced  than  hers  might  well  stare. 
Probably  in  no  other  place  upon  the  globe  was  gathered  as 
motley  a  crew :  English,  Indian,  Scandinavian,  French,  German, 
Negroes,  Chinese,  Poles,  Japs,  Finns.  All  the  fine  gentlemen 
had  escaped  by  earlier  boats.  All  the  smart  young  women  with 
their  gold-nugget  buttons  as  big  as  your  thumb,  lucky  miners 
from  the  creeks  with  heavy  consignments  of  dust  to  take  home, 
had  been  too  wary  to  run  any  risk  of  the  Never-Know-What 
closing  inopportunely.  The  great  majority  here,  on  the  wharf, 
dazed  or  excited,  lugging  miscellaneous  possessions — things 
they  had  clung  to  in  straits  so  desperate  they  knew  no  more 

413 


THE    MAGNETIC    NORTH 

how  to  relax  their  hold  than  dead  fingers  do — these  were  men 
whose  last  chance  had  been  the  Klondyke,  and  who  here,  as 
elsewhere,  had  failed.  Many  who  came  in  young  were  going 
out  old;  but  the  odd  thing  wras  that  those  w^orst  off  went  out 
game — no  whining,  none  of  the  ostentatious  pathos  of  those 
broken  on  the  wheel  of  a  great  city. 

A  man  under  Muckluck's  window,  dressed  in  a  moose-skin 
shirt,  straw  hat,  broadcloth  trousers,  and  carpet  slippers,  in  one 
hand  a  tin  pail,  in  the  other  something  tied  in  a  handkerchief, 
called  out  lustily  to  a  ragged  individual,  cleaving  a  way  through 
the  throng,  "Got  your  stuff  aboard?" 

"Yes,  goin'  to  get  it  off.    I  ain't  goin'  home  till  next  year." 

And  the  face  above  the  moose-skin  shirt  was  stricken  with 
a  sudden  envy.  Without  any  telling,  he  knew  just  how  his 
pardner's  heart  had  failed  him,  when  it  came  to  turning  his 
tattered  back  on  the  possibilities  of  the  Klondyke. 

"Oh,  I'm  comin'  back  soon  's  I  get  a  grub-stake." 

"I  ain't,"  said  another  with  a  dazed  expression — a  Klon- 
dyker  carrying  home  his  frying-pan,  the  one  thing,  apparently, 
saved  out  of  the  wreck. 

"You  think  you  ain't  comin'  back?  Just  wait!  Once  you've 
lived  up  here,  the  Outside  ain't  good  enough  fur  yer." 

"Right!"  said  an  old  Forty-miler,  "you  can  try  it;  but  Lord! 
how  you'll  miss  this  goll-darn  Yukon." 

Among  the  hundreds  running  about,  talking,  bustling,  haul 
ing  heterogeneous  luggage,  sending  last  letters,  doing  last  deals, 
a  score  of  women  either  going  by  this  boat  or  saying  good-bye 
to  those  who  were ;  and  Potts,  the  O'Flynns,  and  Mac  waiting 
to  hand  over  Kaviak  to  Sister  Winifred. 

The  Boy  at  the  open  window  above,  staring  down  on  the 
tatterdemalion  throng,  remembered  his  first  meeting  with  the 
Big  Chimney  men  as  the  Washington  City  steamed  out  of  San 
Francisco's  Golden  Gate  a  year  and  a  month  before. 

Of  course,  even  in  default  of  finding  millions,  something  stir 
ring  might  have  happened,  something  heroic,  rewarding  to  the 
spirit,  if  no  other  how;  but  (his  own  special  revelation  blurred, 
swamped  for  the  moment  in  the  common  wreck)  he  said  to 
himself  that  nothing  of  the  sort  had  befallen  the  Big  Chimney 
men  any  more  than  to  the  whipped  and  bankrupt  crew  strug 
gling  down  there  on  the  wharf.  They  simply  had  failed — all 
alike.  And  yet  there  was  between  them  and  the  common 
failures  of  the  world  one  abiding  difference:  these  had  greatly 

414 


THE    GOING    HOME 

dared.  As  long  as  the  meanest  in  that  crowd  drew  breath  and 
held  to  memory,  so  long  might  he  remember  the  brave  and  ter 
rible  days  of  the  Klondyke  Rush,  and  that  he  had  borne  in  it 
his  heavy  share.  No  share  in  any  mine  save  that — the  knowl 
edge  that  he  was  not  among  the  vast  majority  who  sit  dully 
to  the  end  beside  what  things  they  were  born  to — the  earnings 
of  other  men,  the  savings  of  other  women,  afraid  to  go  seeking 
after  better  lest  they  lose  the  good  they  have.  They  had  failed, 
but  it  could  never  be  said  of  a  Klondyker  that  he  had  not  tried. 
He  might,  in  truth,  look  down  upon  the  smug  majority  that 
smiles  at  unusual  endeavour,  unless  success  excuses,  crowns  it. 
No  one  there,  after  all,  so  poor  but  he  had  one  possession 
treasured  among  kings.  And  he  had  risked  it.  What  could  a 
man  do  more? 

"Good-bye,  Muckluck." 

"Goo'-bye?    Boat  Canada  way  no  go  till  Thursday." 

"Thursday,  yes,"  he  said  absently,  eyes  still  on  the  American 
ship. 

"Then  wrhy  you  say  goo'-bye  to-day?" 

"Lot  to  do.     I  just  wanted  to  make  sure  you  were  all  right." 

Her  creamy  face  was  suddenly  alight,  but  not  with  gratitude. 

"Oh,  yes,  all  right  here,"  she  said  haughtily.  "I  not  like 
much  the  Boston  men — King  George  men  best."  It  was  so  her 
sore  heart  abjured  her  country.  For  among  the  natives  of  the 
Klondyke  white  history  stops  where  it  began  when  George  the 
Third  was  King.  "I  think" — she  shot  sideways  a  shrewd  look 
— "I  think  I  marry  a  King  George  man." 

And  at  the  prospect  her  head  drooped  heavily. 

"Then  you'll  want  to  wear  this  at  your  wedding." 

The  Boy  drew  his  hand  out  of  his  pocket,  threw  a  walrus- 
string  over  her  bent  head,  and  when  she  could  see  clear  again, 
her  Katharine  medal  was  swinging  below  her  waist,  and  "the 
Boston  man"  was  gone. 

She  stared  with  blinded  eyes  out  of  the  window,  till  suddenly 
in  the  mist  one  face  was  clear.  The  Boy !  Standing  still  dowTn 
there  in  the  hurly-burly,  hands  in  pockets,  staring  at  the  ship. 

Suddenly  Sister  Winifred,  her  black  veil  swirling  in  the 
wind.  An  orderly  from  St.  Mary's  Hospital  following  with  a 
little  trunk.  At  the  gangwray  she  is  stopped  by  the  purser, 
asked  some  questions,  smiles  at  first  and  shakes  her  head,  and 
then  in  dismay  clasps  her  hands,  seeming  to  plead,  while  the 
whistle  shrieks. 

415 


THE    MAGNETIC    NORTH 

Muckluck  turned  and  flew  down  the  dark  little  stair, 
threaded  her  way  in  and  out  among  the  bystanders  on  the  wharf 
till  she  reached  the  Sister's  side.  The  nun  was  saying  that  she 
not  only  had  no  money,  but  that  a  Yukon  purser  must  surely 
know  the  Sisters  were  forbidden  to  carry  it.  He  could  not 
doubt  but  the  passage  money  would  be  made  good  when  they 
got  to  Holy  Cross.  But  the  purser  was  a  new  man,  and  when 
Mac  and  others  who  knew  the  Yukon  custom  expostulated,  he 
hustled  them  aside  and  told  Sister  Winifred  to  stand  back,  the 
gangway  was  going  up.  It  was  then  the  Boy  came  and  spoke 
to  the  man,  finally  drew  out  some  money  and  paid  the  fare. 
The  nun,  not  recognising  him,  too  bewildered  by  this  rough 
passage  with  the  world  even  to  thank  the  stranger,  stood  mo 
tionless,  grasping  Kaviak's  hand — two  children,  you  would  say 
— her  long  veil  blowing,  hurrying  on  before  her  to  that  haven 
in  the  waste,  the  mission  at  Holy  Cross. 

Again  the  Boy  was  delaying  the  upward  swing  of  the  gang 
way:  the  nun's  trunk  must  come  on  board.  Two  men  rushed 
for  it  while  he  held  down  the  gang. 

"Mustn't  cry,"  he  said  to  Muckluck.  "You'll  see  Sister 
Winifred  again." 

"Not  for  that  I  cry.    Ah,  I  never  shall  have  happiness!" 

"Yes,  that  trunk!"  he  called. 

In  the  babel  of  voices  shouting  from  ship  and  shore,  the  Boy 
heard  Princess  Muckluck  saying,  with  catches  in  her  breath: 

"I  always  knew  I  would  get  no  luck!" 

"Why?" 

"Ah!  I  was  a  bad  child.  The  baddest  of  all  the  Pymeut 
children."  , 

"Yes,  yes,  they've  got  it  now!"  the  Boy  shouted  up  to  the 
Captain.  Then  low,  and  smiling  absently:  "What  did  you  do 
that  was  so  bad,  Princess?" 

"Me?  I — I  mocked  at  the  geese.  It  was  the  summer  they 
were  so  late;  and  as  they  flew  past  Pymeut  I — yes,  /  mocked 
at  them." 

A  swaying  and  breaking  of  the  crowd,  the  little  trunk  flung 
on  board,  the  men  rushing  back  to  the  wharf,  the  gang  lifted, 
and  the  last  Lower  River  boat  swung  out  into  the  ice-flecked 
stream. 

Keen  to  piercing  a  cry  rang  out — Muckluck's: 

"Stop!    They  carry  him  off!     It  is  meestake!    Oh!     Oh!" 

The  Boy  was  standing  for'ard,  Nig  beside  him. 

416 


THE    GOING    HOME 

O'Flynn  rushed  to  the  wharf's  edge  and  screamed  at  the 
Captain  to  "Stop,  be  the  Siven !"  Mac  issued  orders  most  per 
emptory.  Muckluck  wept  as  excitedly  as  though  there  had 
never  been  question  of  the  Boy's  going  away.  But  while  the 
noise  rose  and  fell,  Potts  dra\vled  a  "Guess  he  means  to  go  that 
way !" 

"No,  he  don't!" 

"Stop,  you ,  Captain!" 

"Stop  your boat!" 

"Well,"  said  a  bystander,  "I  never  seen  any  feller  as  calm  as 
that  who  was  bein'  took  the  way  he  didn't  want  to  go." 

"D'ye  mean  there's  a  new  strike?" 

The  suggestion  flashed  electric  through  the  crowd.  It  was 
the  only  possible  explanation. 

"He  knows  what  he's  about." 

"Lord!    I  wish  I'd  V  froze  to  him!" 

"Yep,"  said  Buck  One,  "never  seen  that  young  feller  when 
he  looked  more  like  he  wouldn't  give  a  whoop  in  hell  to  change 
places  with  anybody." 

As  O'Flynn,  back  from  his  chase,  hoarse  and  puffing,  stopped 
suddenly : 

"Be  the  Siven!  Father  Brachet  said  the  little  divil  'd  be 
coming  back  to  Howly  Cross!" 

"Where's  that?" 

"Lower  River  camp." 

"Gold  there?" 

"No." 

"Then  you're  talking  through  your  hat!" 

"Say,  Potts,  where  in  hell  is  he  goin'?" 

"Damfino!" 


THE    END 


417 


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DUE  AS  STAMPED  BELOW 

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